


Easier to Lie

by bilbo



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional Roller Coaster, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Love Triangles, M/M, Multi, Mutually Unrequited, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pain, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 19:48:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 52,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bilbo/pseuds/bilbo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Have you ever wondered why the portrait of young Bilbo is "private" and he guards it so carefully from his young nephew Frodo?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What's this?

“What’s this?” The small hint of a laugh at the corners of Frodo’s youthful voice seemed to knock the old hobbit out of his preoccupation with words and he glanced up to see what had his nephew’s attention (and amusement). What he saw was the portrait – an old portrait, yellowed by time and pressed between the pages of a large leather-bound book. As soon as he realized what it was, he snatched it out of his nephew’s hands.

“That,” Bilbo warned, “is private. Keep your sticky paws off.” And he did his best to hide the image from the young hobbit. Though why he was being so protective of it was absurd. It was a portrait, after all. Just a picture. Nothing more.

And yet the meaning behind it…

When Frodo turned his attention then to the open book in front of him, Bilbo closed the pages. The distraction was a welcome one and it seemed the younger hobbit had forgotten all about the old portrait, but the old hobbit still held it in his hand, seeing every detail of the page in his mind’s eye and thinking back on that happenstance when it was given to him, so many years ago. Looking at it always brought a two-fold bittersweet emotion – joy and nostalgia at the friendships, the memories, the excitement; but also a deep pain and sorrow, bound up in loss, regret, and circumstance.

It was years ago, and yet the memory was still fresh and new. In Bilbo’s own mind, he hadn’t aged quite so much from that time, though one quick glance at his own reflection told him that indeed he had. But in his heart he still had that Tookishness about him, the playful adventuresome hobbit of his youth. It would never leave him entirely. Not until he lived out the last of his days.

After sending Frodo off on some simple errand and then wishing him well as the young hobbit made his way to East Farthing Woods, Bilbo returned to his study with the portrait in hand, his eyes taking in its details tenderly. Had he known back then what he knew now, perhaps things would have been different. Sometimes he wondered just how much might have changed.


	2. Only All The Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> how the portrait came into being

Rough hands smoothed out a piece of parchment delicately, with the precision and care of one who both worked on a grand scale and a smaller one. These were miner’s hands, but toymaker’s fingers, and they could as easily wield a mattock as a pencil, which he pulled out now. Smoothing the parchment again and using the pencil as a guide, the fingers gingerly started to tease out an image, taking shape slowly as the sounds of raucous laughter and joviality filled the night air. A fire cackled merrily, sending a dim red glow around the gathered faces. The company had raised their voices in song, but he sat a bit off from the rest of them, humming the melody as he continued to work.

A few more teased out lines and the artist sat back to take in the work so far by the dimness of the firelight. It was taking shape just as he wanted it to, and as his eyes glanced back up at the subject he was surprised to feel an odd stirring in his chest as he watched his model, unaware he was being so scrutinized.

It was funny, really. As first impressions went, the hobbit had done little to endear himself to the rest of the company, but for his own part the dwarf now gazing at him had liked him from the start. When everyone thought the hobbit wouldn’t come to join them, he’d voted in his favour (much to the amusement of the others). And when the others would belittle Bilbo, he commended the hobbit. Ever the optimist, there was little that could dampen his view of the other. Everyone had their part to play, and Bilbo had proved himself capable and kindly. And though the running joke was that the “gentler” one wouldn’t survive without a proper handkerchief, silently they all admitted what the artist admitted aloud. They wouldn’t have gotten as far as they were now without him.

“Wha’s this?” a young voice – Kíli’s – pulled his attention from the past again into the present. Glancing up at the curious brown eyes that peered over his shoulder, he leaned back a bit to give the younger dwarf a look.

“Wha’ d’ y’ think, lad?” He held it up so that the light could play more clearly on the parchment.

The younger squinted for a few moments as if unable to make anything out, but when recognition dawned on his face he suddenly exclaimed, “is that Bilbo?!”

“It’s not finished yet,” he explained, putting it back down and pressing the pencil to the parchment as if anticipating teasing out a few more lines but not actually doing so.

“Hmm,” the young dwarf made a sound of approval in his throat before glancing up at the hobbit himself, his eyes darting between him and his uncle who stood with his back to the group, watching the stars and pondering the distant mountains. Bofur paid him no mind and went back to his work, teasing out a few more curves of the eyebrows without another thought. “Wha’ made ya decide on him, Bofur?” the younger dwarf pried, crouching down so he was near the older dwarf’s level, speaking to him conspiratorially. He was distractedly drawing with his index finger on the stone floor, tracing invisible shapes on the ground.

“Jus’ want him to feel like he’s part o’ the company,” he answered amicably, his dark eyes venturing back up to the hobbit on the other side of the fire. Bilbo seemed to catch on that time because he caught the glance, but when the dwarf gave him a friendly wave he just smiled, contented and (if anything) sleepy.

Kíli chuckled to himself, amused, and shook his head. “Is tha’ all?”

Though internally Bofur felt that he was being peacefully interrogated, he didn’t show it outwardly. “He’s a good lad.”

“Well, don’ say that around my uncle,” the archer indicated with a disinterred tone.

“Ah, Thorin jus’ has a lot on his mind right now,” Bofur spoke with a kind of gentle recognition, but that only seemed to spark more amusement in the young archer because he snorted again. “He’ll come round,” he added after a moment.

“He’s come round his own way,” Kíli replied softly, his own eyes venturing first to his uncle, then to his brother who sat not too far from the pair of them.

“Wha’ d’y’mean?”

Kíli chewed his lower lip thoughtfully and seemed to be pondering his best phrasing of a response, though he never got a chance to answer. His brother’s voice brought his attention elsewhere.

“Khâzash.”

The younger dwarf didn’t hesitate to rise to his feet and gave the toymaker a clap on the back before crossing to his brother, the pair disappearing into the dark of the elven city together. It was an odd exchange but it did little to diminish the elder’s spirits as he pressed the pencil back to the parchment, teasing out a few more curves of the face, filling the shadows under his eyes, and the curves around his lips and nose. The minor details were beginning to fill out and when he felt pleased with the finished work he sat back to admire it. It did indeed look like the hobbit. Of course it needed a few minor touchups – some ink to smooth out the lines – but the likeness was uncanny, and if possible, the image seemed to capture a bit of the hobbit’s spirit. The smile was subtle and shy – what seemed to be the “Baggins” part of him – but it hinted at a hidden layer of mischief, which Gandalf called the hobbit’s “Tookishness.” Whatever it was, it could be seen there in the image. Or so it seemed to Bofur.

Giving his handiwork one last glance, he rolled it up and rifled among his things until he found an empty flask, then stuffed the rolled parchment inside, to keep it safe from the winds and rains of the wild. He would put the finishing touches on it when – or rather, if – they arrived at journey’s end. And then he would give it to the hobbit.

One by one the company disbanded from their merry fire, going to the rooms that had been given them by their elvish host. It wasn’t long until Bofur was among the only that remained. His brother had already retired to the room the two of them were to share, but Balin, Dwalin and Dori had remained, talking amongst themselves about the morning’s plans. They had already discussed with Gandalf departing after he was to attend a meeting of some kind of Lord Elrond, though it was something they had to keep quiet. As the elves disapproved of their quest, their intention was to delay them as much as they were able. They couldn’t guess that the company would leave without Gandalf with the intention of meeting with him at a later time in the mountains. It seemed to be the only chance they had and they were ready to take it. When the elves eyes were turned, they would slip off and continue on as planned, seeking shelter in the mountains until Gandalf joined them.

Several times Bofur had gotten out his flute to play quietly to himself, but at the present moment he was simply sitting by what remained of the fire, pondering his earlier conversation with the young dwarf curiously. It had stirred something inside him, though he wasn’t sure exactly what.

Finally he got up and prodded the fire with his boot before making his way back into the last homely house to the room in which he would be sleeping. He could hear his brother’s snores echoing from down the hall long before he made his way into the room, but he paid them no mind as he took off his outerwear and folded it, setting it on a chair near his bed and setting his hat on top of the pile. Lastly he removed his boots before he lay in the bed that had been so carefully prepared along with 14 others for their company by the elves. It was more kindness than any of them expected – from what they had been told, or remembered, of the elves from Mirkwood – but it was certainly appreciated.

Still, there would be no sleep for the miner this night. His thoughts were too confused. If he took a closer look at the words of his young dwarvish companion, he felt that odd sensation flare up again, just like it had when he’d first started gazing on the hobbit to immortalize him on parchment. Perhaps it was nothing. But it didn’t feel like nothing. And the cryptic statement about Thorin having come round his own way…what was that about?

The dwarf couldn’t think straight so he let the conversation mull around in his mind, swirling with the image of the hobbit’s face from across the fire, Bombur’s snores a soothing presence in the otherwise perfect quiet of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can probably see where this is going, but still r&r appreciated.
> 
> edit march 27: i realized i had the wrong eye colour in here so i fixed it. carry on.


	3. Your Eyes Open

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the company ventures from imladris to the mountains, and bilbo and bofur fall behind for a little conversation

“C’mon now, we need t’ be going,” Bofur gave his brother a guiding tug, as the younger dwarf was still drowsily considering getting up. The rest of the company had been gathering in pairs, slipping off quietly without the elves totally being aware of what they were doing, with the express instructions to meet once outside the city and set off together. At this point however, Bofur was fairly certain that they were the last remaining dwarves. Giving his brother another tug, he peered out of the room to check for curious elven eyes before the pair of them made their way quietly through the city.

When they had slipped out of the city and rejoined their companions, they were only briefly chastised before the company made their way for the mountains, hardly turning to look back. That is, except for the hobbit. He seemed to have fallen for the beautiful elven city more than the dwarvish company, and from the wistful look in his eyes he would surely miss it.

As they made their way up the mountain road the hobbit trailed behind the rest, his gaze alternating from the ground beneath his feet to the splendour of Imladris that was fast disappearing behind them. The mountains loomed ahead of them, enormous and potentially threatening with the dark clouds that hung over their peaks, but for the most part everyone was quite cheerful.

Falling behind with Bilbo, Bofur was ever in good humour. “Wha’s on your mind, lad?”

The hobbit had hardly noticed him and was startled by his voice, but when he glanced up and saw the smile of the miner, he recovered.

“Hmm?” he answered, clearly so lost in whatever thought that he hadn’t even heard the words.

“Best keep your mind on th’ ground,” Bofur added, and he pulled the hobbit closer to the mountain wall beside them so he was not quite so close to the sheer drop.

“What? Oh…yes you’re probably right,” Bilbo replied and it seemed for the first time he noticed just how precarious of a drop it was, because he pulled even closer to the safety of the mountainside and had to stop for a moment to recover himself.

“Y’alright lad?”

“No no no I’m…I’m fine,” Bilbo answered quickly, and he was able to cast a glance at the dwarf with his best – though easily seen to be forced – smile. There was no mistaking the fact that he’d just given himself a minor heart attack with how close he’d been to danger.

“What were y’ thinkin’ about?”

The hobbit shook his head, his golden curls bouncing around his youthful face. Or at least it looked youthful, given his lack of facial hair. Sometimes when he talked however, he seemed as old as the best among them. “It’s nothing, really.”

Bofur slowed his pace so they were able to fall behind from the others some distance, and for the moment they remained unnoticed. “Oh c’mon, you can tell ol’ Bofur.” And he took a moment to remove his pipe from among his things, then produced some pipeweed, packing first his own pipe and then offering some to the hobbit, as he’d seen him smoking before.

Bilbo hesitated before accepting what was offered him, leaning against the mountainside so he could rummage through his things and pull out his own pipe. He packed the pipeweed in and then Bofur set about to lighting them both quickly. Once that task was done, they fell into step again, not wanting to fall too far behind the company, but still allowing ample space between themselves and anyone else who might overhear. The pipeweed seemed to settle the hobbit, though his eyes still had that glazed look of someone who was directed inwards, rather than outwards.

“So,” Bofur pressed after the silence had lingered for long enough by his measure. “Wha’s on your mind?”

Bilbo sighed, exhaling a thin cloud of smoke between his lips and gazed forward towards the mountains. Whatever was bothering him seemed to bear heavily on his mind, and his secrecy about it made the issue all the more of interest to the miner. Nothing should bother someone like Bilbo. His “gentle” demeanour should have earned him at least a little peace of mind.

When he finally seemed ready to speak, the hobbit’s voice dropped quite low as he leaned in to address his companion. “Well…I just…” He hesitated and took another deep lungfull of pipeweed, letting the smoke out with more control this time. A tiny circle of smoke drifted into the air and dissipated. To shift the focus from himself, he suddenly changed topics. “When do you suppose Gandalf will be back?”

“He’s Gandalf; he’ll be back,” Bofur replied with some authority to his voice, though he hadn’t missed the attempt at redirection. “Can’t go too far without him, can we?” he added with a hint of a joke in his tone. His eyes glanced ahead to the rest of the company. Their distance hadn’t been noticed by anyone save Balin, though the aged dwarf only gave them a quick backward glance before sharing a kindly smile and returning to his conversation with Fíli.

“No, I suppose we can’t,” the hobbit agreed, and he turned his attention back to his feet. The further they walked the more the mountain chill seemed to bite into them, but the hobbit was doing his best to appear as strong and hearty as the rest of them, never mind his garb was completely useless in heavy weather. The miner noticed but chose not to comment at the present.

“Was that wha’ was on you mind jus’ now?” he continued, knowing full well that it wasn’t, for Bilbo’s behaviour said whatever troubled him still controlled his mind.  
Bilbo stopped in his tracks and sighed deeply, and for a moment Bofur wasn’t sure whether he was distressed or simply annoyed that he hadn’t forgotten about the troubling thought. It was always hard to tell with Bilbo – his distress often mascaraed as annoyance, which had been evident when they arrived at his home in the Shire. “You noticed?” he spoke finally, his free hand fisting at his side as he took in another lungfull of smoke. He let it out without any control, the smoke simply spreading from every orifice it could escape from, clouding him for a moment.

“One thing I’ve learned,” Bofur answered with his ever pleasant smile, “is no’ t’ keep too much inside.” He took the opportunity to tap the hobbit’s chest with his free hand once, to indicate his heart.

The action was not unwelcome, though it elicited a response in the hobbit that was difficult to read. Bofur had gotten rather good at reading others, but the expression on Bilbo’s face was as cryptic to him now as Kíli’s statement had been the night before.

But all the same, it seemed to do the trick because the hobbit smiled genuinely. “You’re probably right,” he admitted, then his smile faded into a layer of sadness – or perhaps it was disappointment? “I can’t win.”

“Wha’ d’y’mean?”

“I mean this,” Bilbo continued, gesturing ahead of him to the rest of the company, who as yet still had taken no notice of the pair of them. Not even Balin, who had noticed them previously, had cast them another wayward glance. 

“The mountains?”

“No no no,” Bilbo sighed and took another inhale from the pipe, though he took it with a bit too much gusto and ended up coughing and sputtering. That did the trick and within moments the others had stopped to look back at the pair of them.

“Y’alright there, lad?” Bofur patted his companion’s back in the hopes to help him breathe, and though he was clearly alright, he continued to cough for a few more moments, each puff accompanied by another little burst of smoke.

Ahead of them, in his deep commanding voice, Thorin shouted, “Don’t fall so far behind. The mountains are treacherous, and it looks like we may be coming into a storm.” It was all he said to them, before directing the others to keep moving.

When Bilbo seemed able to breathe normally again, Bofur helped him to walk until he forced the dwarf to release him. Emptying the pipe with mild defiance and then storing it away in his things, he adjusted his jacket around himself and nodded his head once, with firm certitude. “That’s what I mean.”

“Y’ mean Thorin?”

“Well he isn’t too fond of me, now is he?” Bilbo expounded, though he kept his voice low as they drew closer to the company. “I can’t seem to do anything right.”

“Don’ let it bother you,” Bofur replied gently. “He’s got a lot on his mind righ’ now. He’ll come round.”

He felt like he’d had this conversation before.

“Yes well,” Bilbo continued, acknowledging the other’s words with a quick glance. “That’s not _exactly_ what I meant.”

The statement left the dwarf dumbfounded. It was evident in his expression and Bilbo just waved it off absently.

“Never mind. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Wha’ did you mean? “ Bofur pressed, but Bilbo simply shook his head again and walked off ahead of him.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“You don’t know tha’,” Bofur responded without hesitation, and he quickened his pace to catch up with the hobbit so they were again walking side by side.

“Oh yes I do,” Bilbo confirmed, and that cynical side of him seemed to be slipping off.

“No, you don’.”

Bilbo stopped in his steps and gave Bofur a look that said he was reaching the end of his patience – or maybe he was just dealing with his own inner distress – but he seemed to be caving to the dwarf’s persistence. “It’s…complicated.”

“Alright.”

The hobbit hesitated again, dragging his feet as he glanced first at Bofur, then ahead to the company. When he seemed content that they were far enough to not overhear, he finally forced out, “I guess I’d just…I’d like for us to be friends.”

“Well…that’s no’ so bad, laddy,” Bofur responded with an encouraging smile, and he gave the hobbit’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Bilbo flushed at the statement and looked down, not willing to meet the other’s eyes. “Maybe…more than friends.”

For the first time in a while Bofur had no idea what to say, but one thing was certain. That odd stirring sensation he’d felt while sketching by the fire flared up again, filling his chest and spreading to his stomach while licking his shoulders. It was not what he’d expected the other to say, nor was it the reaction he would have anticipated from himself.

His expression must have shifted noticeably because Bilbo paled. “You won’t mention anything to the others, will you?” he pleaded, suddenly the fear of being found out overwhelming him. It snapped Bofur out of the awareness of what was going on inside of him and he was able to pull a smile from somewhere inside him.

“Oh don’ worry about tha’. Your secret’s safe with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bofur feels, and bitchy thorin is bitchy.
> 
> i've gone with movieverse in this one, making gandalf stay behind, mostly because i don't want him creeping on bofur and bilbo's alone time (and you know, being a wizard, he totally would). as always, r&r appreciated.


	4. Both Sides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the thunder battle, and the cave.

Things were moving in slow motion as the pair rejoined the group. Perhaps not so much for Bilbo, for the hobbit had no idea what was going on inside his companion, but for Bofur’s own part he was as lost now as the hobbit had been when he dropped behind to talk to him. Only this time the shift went unnoticed. At least by most. Bilbo moved forward through the line until he was about halfway through their company, and Bofur tried to stay close enough to him as to keep an eye on him. However he didn’t seem quite ready to speak to the hobbit, as the confession had destabilized him.

How does one reset themself when someone else reaches inside and flips them about? That’s what it felt like was going on. Prior to Bilbo’s simple confession, it had seemed that the dwarf simply had a kind of caring affection for the hobbit. But now that he knew the hobbit might have feelings for their leader – for Thorin – it finally dawned on the miner that perhaps his affections were more than just friendly. And that realization troubled him the most.

Taking his hand and rummaging through his things until he found the flask that contained his portrait, he held it for a time in his hand, just secure in the knowledge that it existed, and perhaps more aware of its meaning. Had he known the moment he began the work what he knew now, he might not have finished it. Likely he wouldn’t have started it. Glancing up to the head of the company where Thorin charged on – proud, strong, majestic – Bofur couldn’t help but feel ridiculous about his own emotions. That he would discover all too late that he might have feelings for the hobbit, when the hobbit cared for Thorin, was enough to make anyone feel ridiculous.

A miner from the Blue Mountains was no comparison to the heir of Durin.

The higher they got, the more treacherous the road, and it wasn’t too long after they rejoined the others that it started to rain. The drops fell lightly at first, but hardly an hour had passed before the rain fell so heavily that it was difficult to see too far ahead, nor to hear one another over the deluge. Bofur stayed close to Bilbo, knowing full well that despite the fact that the hobbit seemed quite capable of caring for himself (and, for all intents and purposes, the rest of them) he would be unable to allow anything to happen to him. That one thing was very clear to him. Bilbo was too important to let anything happen to him. Too important to the company. Too important to the quest. Too important to him.

Once the hobbit proved him right by losing his balance and getting precariously close to the edge, but Bofur and several other nearby hands. He tried to speak words of encouragement, but they were lost in the roar of the wind and the crashing of the rocks. It was then that Balin’s voice was able to pull above the torrent - a thunder battle. Then they saw them, altogether for the first time.

“Giants! Stone Giants!”

It was difficult to see exactly what was happening over the swiftly falling rain, but the very ground beneath their feet seemed to move of its own accord, and before they realized what was happening, the company was split in two, each half clinging to the wall behind them as they watched the others pass them by. Without thinking, Bofur took hold of the hobbit’s hand, holding onto it tightly to keep him from harm. He wasn’t certain whether the hobbit knew; indeed, he hardly was aware himself, though when the stone giant on which they stood fell, and it looked as though they were all going to be smashed into the mountainside, impulse drove him to squeeze the hand he now held dearly, fearing it would be the last.

Fortunately the ledge above them protected them as it crashed into another ledge, the rock shattering above their heads as it spilled them onto the mountainside. Bofur’s ears were still ringing with the rain and wind when the rest of the company came upon them. He reached over to find Bilbo…only the hobbit wasn’t there.

Panic seized him.

Bilbo was hanging from the edge. He hadn’t landed on the ledge like the rest of them. He was holding on for dear life.

Leaning down and reaching for his hand, Bofur grasped for him in the desperate attempt to help him back up, but the hobbit only slipped further.

He would be lost.

It was at that time that Thorin took command and swung himself down the precipice; grabbing the hobbit and forcing him back up onto the ledge, risking life for the sake of the hobbit.

The moment it happened Bofur realised what he had lost. Or, rather, what he could have done. Still, he had pulled Bilbo back up to safety as Dwalin helped Thorin onto the ledge once more, and as Bilbo recovered his breath Bofur didn’t let go of his arm.

“For a moment there, I thought we had lost our hobbit,” Dwalin joked, his voice breaking through the deafening downfall. Bofur had thought so too, and it had been terrifying. But Thorin shattered the moment with his deprecation.

“He’s been lost ever since he stepped out his door. He’s thought nothing of his warm fire and his books since he left home.”

The words could easily have stabbed the hobbit in the heart, and just by glancing at his expression, it was clear they had. And, despite the fact that Bofur wanted the hobbit to himself, just that pained look on his face was enough to make the dwarf want to challenge their leader. How could Thorin hurt Bilbo so?

“Don’ mind him, lad,” he spoke consolingly to the hobbit, and he helped him to his feet. Yet once again Bilbo was all inside his head. He didn’t seem to feel Bofur’s hand on his shoulder, guiding him into the cave, and he hardly registered the discussions of the watch, or reconnecting with Gandalf. The hobbit simply made his way to the back of the cave and lay down, alone. Bofur had wanted to follow him, and had he not been assigned the first watch, he would have. However he did keep the corner of his eye fixed on Bilbo and Bilbo alone as he sat facing the entrance of the cave.

The hobbit hardly moved at all.

The night was cold. Even sheltered from the wind, the rain, and the battling giants, it still had a bitter chill that seemed to radiate from the very rocks of the walls. Bofur lit his pipe again and set about to smoking it as a way to ease his mind. There was too much to think about.

Finally turned his attention fully to the door, he fingered the flask once again. It was safe, for now. He opened it and delicately removed the parchment and unrolled it to look upon it in the dim light of the cave. It was still dry, completely unblemished. Perfect.

He rolled it back up and put it away in the flask.

The hours felt like no time at all as his thoughts ran away with him. He was still lost on the hobbit’s confession about Thorin. So Bilbo loved Thorin? Was that it? And Thorin did little else but insult him. Treat him as if he were a burden.

It was difficult in that moment to know exactly what he felt. There was a part of him that saw Thorin’s distress. How difficult it was for the dwarf lord to maintain himself and his quest, even his mind in light of all he had seen and been through. And there was a part of him that felt Thorin had no right to criticize the hobbit in such a way.

And deep inside, hidden away somewhere that even he wasn’t sure he could find it, was a part of him that wanted Thorin to do exactly what he was doing, because the hobbit deserved better.

It was not the kind of thought that the normally optimistic dwarf would have, especially about their king. But something different seemed to rule him, now that the hobbit was involved. Bilbo’s feelings meant more to him than his own, and to see the look on his youthful face each time Thorin criticized him and cut him down hurt the miner almost as much as it seemed to hurt the other. Bilbo might have been of a gentler spirit, but he was tough when he had to be, and he had proven himself to them. Shouldn’t that had been enough?

His thoughts had gotten so beyond him that he hadn’t heard the stirrings in the back of the cave. It was when the hobbit tried to slip past him that he realized what was happening. He started suddenly, though he kept it low so as not to disturb the others. “Where do you think you’re goin’?”

Bilbo’s eyes had that same sad, disheartened determination about them when he turned and met the miner’s gaze. “Back to Rivendell.” Just the look on his face told Bofur that he meant it.

A panic once again seated itself and he stood up to persuade him. “No, you can’t leave now. You’re par’ o’ the company!” And as much as he meant it, he already sensed what Bilbo would say.

“I’m not though, am I?” It was like everything Thorin had said to the hobbit hadn’t left his mind since that moment, and though Bofur couldn’t agree, he couldn’t begrudge the hobbit that either. “Thorin was right. I never should have stepped out my door.”

What could he say to convince the hobbit to stay? Tell him that they could hardly handle the journey without him? Tell him that _he_ couldn’t handle the journey without him?

“You’re homesick,” was what he finally settled on. “I understan’.”

“No you don’t!” Bilbo bit back. “You’re dwarves! You’re used to this life! To living on the road, to never settling in one place, to not belonging anywhere!”

And in that moment, Bofur knew _exactly_ how Bilbo had felt.

His expression must have fallen considerably because Bilbo’s did too. “I…I’m sorry,” he apologized, but it hardly meant anything.

Bofur turned his back on the hobbit and glanced among his sleeping companions. “No, you’re righ’,” he replied softly. “We don’ belong anywhere.”

Would it have been worth it to express why he wanted the hobbit to stay? Would it make any difference now?

He thought not.

Turning back to look at Bilbo, he forced the ever-present smile. “I wish you all the luck in the world.” And he clapped him on the shoulder. “I really do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> almost all the dialogue is from the movie. that's because it was too perfect to fuck with. expect more original scenes to follow. including observant balin and mischievous fili and kili.


	5. Strange and Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> breezing through the goblin town, the orc attack, and straight to post eagles. a moment of normalcy, friendship, and music in the night.

Everything that happened after that happened so fast that it was difficult to keep track of what was going on. Bofur was certain that Bilbo was leaving, but then they were attacked by goblins. Plunged into darkness and driven as a pack before the goblin king himself, it looked like that was the end. The quest was over.  
It was impossible to think about anything but survival at that point. Bofur was near his brother and so, for those moments at least, he made that the primary focus of his attention. Bombur might have been old enough to take care of himself, but Bofur wasn’t one to allow it. He saw it as his duty. Just as he’d felt it his duty to look after Bilbo.

In the fray, of course, he lost Bilbo, and could only hope that someone else was there to keep an eye on him. Or, perhaps, that he had gotten out.  
Even after Gandalf surprised them all by appearing in the middle of the fray, it didn’t make their situation any better. Every one of them had to fight for their lives as they ran through the city, seeking the one thing that would keep them safe – the protection of daylight. An endless sea of goblins came at them, but it seemed that all knew instinctively that if they stuck together, they stood a chance of getting out alive.

The escape was a blur, though it felt simultaneously as if they had been within the bowels of the mountain for moments only, and millennia. When they finally were able to feel the warm, gentle glow of sunlight, none of them had any notion of just how long they had been underground; all they had was to run. To keep running until they were as far as possible from danger.

Those leading the pack came to a stop in a ring of trees where the sunlight still pressed its way through the foliage to the ground, and as they gathered, Gandalf counted them off one by one.

13\. Bilbo wasn’t there.

As soon as Gandalf started asking about him, pressing Dori, then Nori for what happened to him, it seemed that Bofur’s thoughts had been fulfilled. Bilbo must have slipped out. Escaped. He only hoped that the hobbit was safe.

And once again, Thorin launched into one of his exposés about the hobbit and his nature. That he had left because he missed his home, that he saw his chance and took it.

Bofur could only shake his head. Thorin had no idea what he was saying, nor indeed would he ever know that the hobbit had left because of him.

Only he hadn’t left.

The last word had hardly left Thorin’s lips when Bilbo revealed himself to them, slipping past the young and watchful eyes of Fíli and Kíli. That he wasn’t long gone. He was here.

A sigh of relief left his lungs before he realized he was doing it, and Bofur leaned on his mattock as though his own ability to stand upright was suspect given the hobbit’s reappearance. Very few noticed.

But, like everything else, the moment was short-lived, for they were pursued once again, this time by a band of orcs. Quickly in a flurry they climbed into the trees, moving one to the next to avoid being torn down. The howls of the wargs had a hidden melody to them; if they had listened harder, perhaps they might have heard lines about birds and wings, but they were too busy trying to survive to catch it.

It was again at the edge of hope and at the end of their rope that survival came once again in the form of the eagles. One by one, they picked the dwarves off the trees and flew with them into the distance, bringing them to the edge of a wood and placing them on their eyrie before taking off again.

~*~

The Lonely Mountain. Erebor.

They could see it.

It was there, though in the distance, but they could see it all the same. And that was where they were going.

Evening was falling upon them, and so for now, they decided to remain on the eyrie that they had been left on by the eagles. Settling into the stone crevices, they ventured down until they found an outcropping that was well shielded from the outside where they could safely build a fire without drawing attention to themselves. They were, after all, near the edge of Mirkwood forest, and though they didn’t all know what dangers were housed within the dense foliage, they had heard tale all the same. There was no reason to draw more attention than necessary.

This time Bofur was saved from the watch – it was appointed to Fíli, and he took his young brother with him, the pair vanishing into the shadows. The miner retreated to a far corner of the outcropping, distant enough from the fire that it didn’t reach him entirely, but not so far that he couldn’t enjoy its light, or feel just a hint of its warmth. The others remained much closer, but he had too much on his mind to stay too close. Once Bombur came to join him, expressing his concern, but ever the elder, Bofur just smiled and told him that all was well. And it was in his best interest, he thought. Bombur was as good spirited as he; why bother him with unnecessary burdens? Better to let him enjoy the fire, the warmth, and what little they were able to scrounge together before they made their way down in the morning.

As for himself, however, there wasn’t much he wanted right now but a little peace, and the time to sort himself.

Near the edge, Bilbo sat with Thorin, and they seemed to be talking quite amicable. Indeed, more than they had yet since the journey began.

Bofur thought back to the exchange that happened on the eyrie between them after they landed and were reunited as a group once again. Thorin had begun to speak as if he was disappointed in the hobbit, but this time it changed.

He admitted he was wrong, and he hugged the hobbit. Held him to him. Pressed the Halfling to his chest with affection, and perhaps admiration as well.

And as much as Bofur had wanted to do the same the second the hobbit reappeared after they escape the goblin city, he hadn’t gotten the chance. And what point would there have been, really?

One finger pressed into the flask, but he didn’t open it. He wasn’t certain if he’d open it again. Was there a reason? Was there a purpose to it? He had no reason to share it with anyone but himself. A memory of something that never was. Still, he would hold onto it. If he made it to journey’s end, then it would be worth his while.

“You alrigh’ there, laddy?” The voice of the older dwarf pressed into his thoughts, and Bofur glanced up to see the wise and kind eyes of Balin. Balin was one of the few who called him lad, as he was older than many of the other dwarves. But at the question he offered the same bright smile that he always wore, not allowing himself to show any hint of malcontent.

“O’course,” he replied, and Balin lowered himself to a seat beside him so that he was between the miner and the rest of the company. “No’ much o’ a lad though.”

“When you get to be as old as I am,” Balin answered in a quiet if amused voice, “seeing the youth in others helps you stay young.” There was a sparkle in his eyes, and he set his hands on his stomach, resting them there. “And with each winter you see,” he continued, “you learn a little bit more of your fellows.”

Bofur wasn’t sure what he meant, but he turned his gaze on the group clearly. His brother had stopped to say something to Bilbo, and now the pair of them were laughing. Bilbo’s eyes ventured a glance at the miner and he seemed to notice that he was being watched, because his smile softened and he nodded to him once. Bofur returned the smile and immediately diverted his eyes.

The silence was broken once more by the elder beside him. “You’re not, you know.”

“Not wha’?”

“Alrigh’.” And Balin looked him full on then with a mixed gaze that showed both sympathy and understanding.

Bofur forced a laugh and started rifling through his things until he found his pipe. “I’m always alrigh’.”

“Tell me,” Balin continued, and he leaned towards the other conspiratorially, though there was hardly any chance of the others overhearing them. They were so enjoying each other’s company that they struggled to hear a voice beside them, let alone theirs which were some distance away. “Because I know you’re no’.”

Bofur shrugged and packed tobacco in his pipe.

“You may no’ believe me, but I know, Bofur,” Balin went on despite the fact that the miner was choosing very carefully to ignore his words. “I have often been asked why I , a dwarf lord, never had time for a wife.”

The statement struck Bofur as odd and he stopped what he was doing, his pipe still held gently in his hands, though he ventured a glance up to the elder’s face. “Did you?” he asked, the words coming out before he had a chance to think them through. The question made Balin smile kindly, and his warmth seemed to flow out of him.

“Did I?” he returned. “Have time, or have a mind for one?”

“Both,” Bofur pressed. Despite the fact that he wasn’t sure he wanted the elder knowing of his feelings, he trusted Balin and more than anything was drawn into the story the other was willing to tell. A story he hardly knew, and he wondered how many others knew it.

“Oh, I had a mind for one,” the elder went on in a wistful voice. His eyes were sad, and they seemed to see a distant place. “But she had a mind for another.” He turned his eyes to look at the miner and gave him a knowing gaze. “Married him too. I was there.”

“Did she know?”

“If she knows, another told her, not I,” Balin explained carefully. His own eyes glanced around the group gathered by the fire. They scanned them quickly and turned back to the one seated beside him. “Why lay such trifles on her? She was happy.”

Bofur seemed to understand what he was saying, because his own eyes turned back to the pipe in his hands. He fiddled with it a bit as if doing so might take some of the pain within his chest away. “I understan’.”

There was a smile in Balin’s voice as he answered, “I know y’do, lad. Tha’s why I came to you now.” He glanced at the hobbit, now showing the extent of his knowledge to the younger dwarf. “He’s happy. But tha’ doesn’t mean you can’t be there for him.”

The younger dwarf was lost in thought as he continued to fiddle with the pipe. Finally he removed the tobacco and put it back, packing both the tobacco and the pipe away safely in his things. Instead he pulled out his flute, but held it between his fingers more securely than he had the pipe. “Did you ever have mind for another?” he asked. He was seeking something, even if he didn’t see it in that moment.

Once more the elder chuckled, and he turned to look at the younger dwarf fully. “No, but I did get to be there for her and her young boys…after her husband died.”

“Like a father?”

Balin shook his head. “That job was left t’ their uncle,” he explained, and he let his eyes flit once, just for a second, to Thorin.

Dís. Balin must have loved Dís, all this time. Bofur wondered at the level of the elder’s pain, being so close to the one he loved. Watching her children grow, never being a part of her.

“I know it hurts, laddy,” Balin continued, and he reached over to set a hand on his shoulder. It was a fatherly gesture, and the younger took it as such. “But it gets better.”

The smile that crossed Bofur’s face wasn’t forced that time, and he nodded his thanks to the other. Then, picking up his flute, he began to play a familiar melody. It wasn’t long before Balin was singing, and one by one the other’s joined in, the hobbit sitting back to listen. It was a moment of normalcy, a snapshot of peace on the rockside, and for that time, at least, Bilbo’s eyes were finally focused on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well that was unexpected. i love when characters develop themselves without your knowledge. and suddenly i have a new ship. hmm.
> 
> tried to do a fusion of movie and book verse in this chapter, and then i made some of my own shit up because that's how i roll. r&r please. and thanks to all my readers! i really appreciate all of you and your comments. :)


	6. The Lovers are Losing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which kili gets his nose into other people's business. another unexpected turn of events.

“Hey…khâzash.”

The company was walking towards the entrance to Mirkwood forest, the band of them unaware of how closely and protectively they were being followed. Having just spent time with Beorn and being refreshed and revitalized, they had recovered much of their present good humour. Indeed, it was as if they had forgotten the trouble in the mountains, and the dangerous encounter with the orcs.

“Wha’?”

As was typically the case, the company had paired off, the little clusters separated from each other by enough of a distance to warrant ease of conversation, with Gandalf at the head and some of the older and slower dwarves at the rear.

“I think it’s funny.”

The hobbit was, as to be expected, trailing right behind Thorin towards the front of the group, and bright brown eyes were watching him with genuine amusement, a mischief in them that, had it been noticed by the elder dwarves, might have been dissuaded.

“Wha’s funny, Kí?”

The young dwarf chuckled to himself in amusement, stifling the smirk when Dwalin turned to look behind him at the young pair. Shaking his head, the older warrior turned his attention back to the front of the group, following Gandalf’s lead. Once the young dwarf was certain that the elder was sufficiently occupied, he leaned in to his older brother and whispered, conspiratorially, “the hobbit.”

Although the statement was obtuse, the elder chuffed once. “Bilbo? Wha’ of ‘im?”

“Look,” Kíli indicated with a small gesture, though his attempt to be discrete was easily picked up on by the few following him and his brother, trailing behind to take up the rear. His finger directed the elder’s gaze at the front of the company, where Thorin stayed only a short distance behind the wizard, giving the distinct illusion that he was not following, but leading from behind. Bilbo, on the other hand, trailed after Thorin with such resolve and attachment that it was impossible not to be completely and totally aware of the halfling’s feelings or intentions. “Hardly left ‘is side since we landed.”

“What are y’ implyin’?” the elder asked, his voice raising just enough to attract some attention from behind, to which Kíli immediately hushed him.

“Y’ know wha’!” the younger whispered back sharply, glancing about to make sure no one had zeroed in on the words that chanced between them. He especially glanced back to the trailing end of their parade. Bofur and Balin had taken up the rear, and though they had been deeply engrossed in conversation since they left the warm and welcoming home of the Northman, both had sharp ears. It was the toymaker whose attention Kíli was trying to avoid. “Y’ can’ tell me y’ haven’ noticed.”

Fíli seemed unimpressed by the statement and gave his brother a nudge. “Course I have.”

“An’ y’don’t think it’s funny?”

Fíli glanced ahead at the pair as if determining exactly what he thought, but what he settled on was, “No’ really.”

“Don’ get me wrong,” Kíli continued, holding his hands up in a defensive manner as if anticipating the criticism. “I like the Halfling. But he’s no’ exactly dwarf material.”

The older of the two cocked his head to the side, thoughtful. “Maybe tha’s a good thing, Kí.”

“Wha’?”

“When have y’ever known our uncle t’ think about himself?” Fíli asked his younger brother, his blue eyes gazing ahead at their uncle – their father, really, as the man had been the only father they had known since they were small – and noticed the way the dwarf seemed to soften for the bright eyed, youthful-faced hobbit. “Look.”  
Kíli looked, and he though he understood what his brother meant, he wasn’t entirely sure that Fíli saw all of what he did.

“Can’ y’jus’ let him have this one thing?”

Kíli gave his brother a glance that was half-pout half annoyed. “It’s no’ him I was thinkin’ about.”

This seemed to spark Fíli’s interest because he glanced at his brother with a raised brow that asked him to explain further.

“Y’ mean y’haven’ noticed?” Kíli teased, and this time Fíli smacked him hard, drawing Dwalin’s attention to them once more.

“Y’ lads stop tha’,” the aging warrior warned in a tone that said he meant it.

“S’rry mister Dwalin,” Kíli apologized surreptitiously, before taking his brother by the sleeve and slowing his pace ever so slightly so it wasn’t long before Bifur and Bombur overtook them, pushing them further back along the line. When they were further from the older male, he leaned back into his brother again. “Our uncle’s no’ th’only one with an eye on the hobbit,” he explained, to which Fíli simply roared.

“WHA’?!”

“So y’ haven’ noticed!”

“Wha’ are you lads shoutin’ about?” At this point, in his attempt to move away from Dwalin, Kíli had mistakenly brought them close to the end of the line, and it was now Bofur who addressed them. As always, he wore his bright, optimistic smile, though as soon as Kíli saw who it was his eyes grew wide, like a child caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“Nothin’.” He answered faster than he should have, and the statement was immediately suspect by both the toymaker and the older dwarf beside him.

“Y’alright there laddy?” Balin put in, and it was clear that Kíli had lost his ability to articulate because Fíli had to peel him away from the pair and force him to walk again. By now they were on the outskirts of the forest. They could feel the strangeness of it as if it had a dark substance that filled the very air. But the strangeness was secondary at that moment to the strange way the Kíli had suddenly begun to behave. When the company began to slow gradually and break off to await further instructions, Fíli pulled his brother off to the side with him, wanting to get him alone before they were in closer quarters with the rest.

“Wha’ was tha’ about?” he asked the younger dwarf, though it was clear from the look on Kíli’s face that he was still slightly in shock.

“Y’remember wha’ I said, Khâzash?” he spoke softly. Fíli nodded, but when he said nothing else, Kíli’s eyes ventured back to the toymaker, who now stood on the other side of the company, a good distance from the others but not so far as to be lost to them. The older dwarf was watching their uncle and the hobbit with a kind of bittersweetness to his smile. This time Fíli seemed to catch on.

“He told you?”

Kíli shook his head. “No…but when we were in Rivendell, y’ remember tha’ nigh’, wha’ he was doin’?” Fíli just stared blankly at his brother. “He was drawin’ Bilbo. I saw it.”

“Tha’ doesn’t mean anything,” Fíli brushed it off. “He’s Bofur. Probably though’ it would be a nice gift for the hobbit.”

At this Kíli got annoyed at his brother and shoved him once, half in jest and half in frustration, before joining the group.

“Leave it alone,” Fíli warned as his brother walked away from him, but Kíli wasn’t one to just let things sit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i don't know where this came from, but my love for kili manifest in my unconscious as his need to be a more prominent character. also sorry its so short. i considered writing up to the river but then it would have been ungodly long so i'll save that for the next chapter.  
> this is approximately what happened in my head as i was writing this:  
> kili: hey fili  
> fili: what?  
> kili: you know what would be funny?  
> fili: ...  
> kili: fili  
> fili: what?  
> kili: you know what would be funny?  
> fili: kili, stop.  
> kili: no really!  
> fili: ...  
> kili: fili  
> fili: what?!  
> kili: you know what would be funny?  
> fili: you not getting sex tonight because you're going to cause trouble for our uncle and his new boyfriend?  
> kili: wait, what?!  
> fili: kili.  
> kili: what?  
> fili: you know what would be funny?  
> kili: ...nothing.  
> fili: good boy.


	7. Done Stealing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a fast-paced rundown of mirkwood, and we find ourselves captured by the elves. its funny the honesty that comes from being prisoners in close quarters.

And from that moment on, Kíli hardly strayed from the aging miner.

Of course his brother did not approve of this behaviour, but there was only so much Fíli could do to dissuade the younger dwarf from causing mischief without alerting Bofur to what was going on. So here and there, Fíli would cast the younger a warning glance, but Kíli always ignored it.

It was difficult for him to cause too much trouble, anyway. The forest was dense, deep, and dangerous, and with as foolhardy as the young dwarf was, he managed to find his way into negative situations more than once. There was no wizard among them anymore – Gandalf had quitted them at the entrance to the forest, and had been neither seen nor heard of since. The wizard might have saved the young dwarf from some embarrassment and danger, but in his stead he was lucky that the older dwarves kept their eyes peeled. They’d saved his hide. Bofur himself had saved his hide, being that he was closest to him.

The nights were the most difficult. Without fires, they always spent the pitch blackness of a Mirkwood night pressed very close together. They even took to holding hands, making a long dwarven (and hobbit, one would suppose) chain so that no one got swallowed up in the darkness. With all the mysterious eyes peering out at them from the shadows, there was no telling what might happen to a straggler.

It was during these nights that the truth of all the company could be seen – or rather, felt – to anyone who was willing to pay attention. For Bilbo’s part, he almost always found the two hands he held in the dark to be familiar ones – Thorin and Bofur. And because Kíli had hardly stepped two feet away from the miner, he was often the aging dwarf’s other hand.

Yet the overly-protective familial drive that filled the young archer would finally come to fruition not in the forest, as he had initially planned, but in the dungeons of the elven king Thranduil. After their capture, the dwarves we thrown haphazardly into cells with little to no awareness of where they went (why, after all, would elves care who shared a cell?) and Kíli found himself trapped with Bofur, Dori and Ori. Fíli was not in his cell – he was near enough to see, and to talk to, but they were not together, and it took a lot out of the young dwarves to be so parted from each other.

Thorin, of course, was nowhere near the rest of them, and that hurt all the more.

Bilbo was nowhere to be found.

In light of it all, Bofur had been very kind to the younger, caring for him in a way that might have been mistaken for fatherly, though Kíli could see no reason why he might have cause to behave in that way. Still, even though Bofur was nothing like his uncle or his brother, Kíli was thankful for the support, and it wasn’t very long – hardly a few weeks – before he realized just how much he needed someone like Bofur to soothe the separation. His excessively kind, lovely personality made him an ideal mentor, and friend.

Days turned to nights and nights to days. It was difficult to tell in that place, when the only way to mark the passing of time was the food they were given.  
It might as well have been night, for most of the dwarves were sleeping. Their snores could be heard from cell to cell. Within their own little enclosure, Dori and Ori were pressed close together in the corner of the cell, and Kíli lay close to the bars, as he and his brother had been whispering back and forth for most of the day.

“Khâzash.”

“Hmm?”

“Men lananubukhs menu.”

“Men lananubukhs menu, khâzash.”

“Caku men Rasp?”

“Rasup men.”

“Tak sanu yemezu…”

“Tak xemu.”

Kíli remained there by the bars long after his brother had stopped speaking, and though his lack of movement might have indicated that he had fallen asleep, Bofur’s watchful eyes had never once left the young dwarf, and he could tell that he was just waiting. Perhaps determined to lay there until his brother awoke and spoke to him again.

Bofur had long since pushed his own feelings to the back of his mind. His own brother was cells away. He could neither see nor hear him, and his own tendencies to care for him were now manifest on this youth. So when Kíli hardly stirred for close to an hour, he finally whispered to him gently.

“Y’alrigh’ lad?”

Kíli shifted slowly, turning his head to look back at the older dwarf and it was clear from his expression that he wasn’t.

Catching the expression, Bofur offered the youth his hand and Kíli took it, pulling himself upright and crawling over to the wall where the older dwarf was seated, sitting next to him so the wall could support him, though he leaned into the elder without much prompting. In response, Bofur put an arm around the other in a kindly way – like he might his own brother, were he there right then.

And Kíli clung to him like he wanted to cling to Fíli in that moment. Wanted to, but couldn’t.

There was no point pressing the youth. Bofur knew what bothered him. It was likely the same thing that plagued his own mind in that moment, but being the elder he had a role to play, which was to soothe the other in whatever way he could. So he began by humming. He kept his voice low so that their elven guards might not reprimand him, but with just enough resonance and warmth to touch the dwarf beside him. The music seemed to reach Kíli, because it wasn’t too long that he was humming along to the familiar melody. The song of the Lonely Mountain. The song they had sung many times, indeed the song they had sung back in the hobbit’s comfortable hole in the ground that brought him on their journey.

Where was the hobbit now?

“Bofur?” Kíli pressed after a while, his own voice just a whisper. He remained where he was, pressed against the older dwarf and finding comfort in the physical presence. The arm around his shoulder, the voice, the form beside him.

“Yeah lad?” The song fell off abruptly at the spoken name, but its silent echo still left traces in the cell. It might not have been heard over the snores, but it made its presence known all the same.

“D’y’still have it?”

“Wha’?”

“Th’ picture.”

The question seemed oddly placed to the miner, who glanced down at the youthful face in confusion.

“It’s jus’…the las’ time we sang tha’, we were at Bilbo’s. Before all this.”

Bofur was still surprised, but he allowed a smile and patted his side gently, indicating where the flask still sat. Under his tunic and pressed against his side, it was hardly distinguishable from the layered clothes and his own body.

Silence settled on them for a while longer. Kíli was beginning to regret his earlier mischief, especially now as he gained comfort from the elder, but he still wanted to know, so after a few more moments of silence he spoke again.

“Bofur?”

“Yeah?”

“Y’know our uncle…” he started quietly, but Bofur beat him to it.

“Don’ worry, lad.” And, as always, he smiled kindly at the other.

“Y’mean y’don’t?” Kíli countered, sounding surprised.

This time Bofur didn’t follow. “Don’t wha’?”

The younger swallowed his words for a long time and just sat there, leaning into elder and trying to fight the shame that was there of questioning him about something so personal. For his own part, the young dwarf might have died, had any of the company attempted to question him about his attachments. But then, he thought perhaps he had much more to lose than the rest of them.

Eyes bore into him though he refused to look up to meet the gaze and he sighed as he leaned into the elder all the more. “Don’…love th’ hobbit.”

There was something so remarkably innocent about the way the youth addressed him that Bofur might have laughed. Had they been somewhere else, in a different place. But a smile would suffice. “I never said tha’.”

“Y’mean y’do then? But…”

“Don’ you think on it, Kíli,” Bofur continued, his arm ever holding firm the young dwarf to his side. “Jus’ because I migh’…have feelin’s for the hobbit, doesn’t mean I can’ let ‘im go.”

Kíli didn’t understand, but he said nothing.

“He loves your uncle. It’s alrigh’.”

The youth pressed closer into the warm body beside him, his eyes fighting to stay open. Sleep would take him soon, and he could sleep comfortably if he only just pretended that this body beside him was his brothers. Then he could feel safe.

“Bofur?”

“Yeah?”

“Gajut men.”

There was nothing to apologize for, and Bofur simply replied, “Hurun ganat.” His own sleep might find him soon, and he felt good. He felt useful, to be there for the other.

And outside the cell, in the hall unseen, the hobbit – concealed by the ring – had paused in his pacing outside the wakeful cell. His sharp ears heard every word, though he’d lost his ability to process them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's more going on with kili here than even i know. and also hello bilbo finding out. i didn't plan on him finding out until the end. we'll see what happens.
> 
> this is just as much a mystery to me as it is to you guys! oops.
> 
> r&r please and thank you!
> 
> oh and the khuzdul!
> 
> the fili/kili convo -  
> k: brother.  
> f: hmm?  
> k: i love you.  
> f: i love you, brother.  
> k: how are you?  
> f: i'm okay.  
> k: until tomorrow.  
> f: until then.
> 
> and then bofur/kili  
> k: i apologize.  
> b: rest well.


	8. Never Be the Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bilbo ponders what he overheard in the cellblock

The hobbit wasn’t sure how to take what he’d overheard in the cell. His ears were still ringing as he walked on silent footfalls between the cells, now the only sounds to enter his brain were the snores of his sleeping companions. Softly, he continued into the depths until he was at Thorin’s solitary cell. Sitting down outside the bars, he allowed himself a gentle sigh that was so quiet it couldn’t have been heard over the noises of the elven structure.

 _Okay, Bilbo,_ he thought to himself as he sat there, pulling his arms around his body. _What are you going to do about this now?_ It was difficult to think his way through what he had just heard. After all, it was only a half conversation, really. His knowledge of Khuzdul was marginal at best (he could recognise it being spoken, but what the words meant he couldn’t even guess) and it seemed that what words he had understood were only half spoken, hiding previous conversations, or unspoken knowledges that were shared.

In the cell behind him he could hear Thorin’s gentle breathing. He wasn’t snoring like the others. Perhaps he was awake.

There was nothing that the hobbit might hear from him however, given that he was alone. And he rarely spoke aloud.

His mind returning to the conversation in the cell, the hobbit couldn’t shake the implication that those words held. The first being that Thorin might have affection for him and the second being that his affections were not the only ones to be had.

He’d paused in the hall when he heard the mention of his name, drawn by the familiar melody coming from the cell, but never had he expected that he – a strange, peculiar, not-even-a-proper-burglar like himself – could cause so much apparent heartache. And even in light of the honesty, he still had a hard time believing it.

Replaying the conversation in his mind again, one sentence stood out among the others. _Jus’ because I migh’…have feelin’s for the hobbit, doesn’t mean I can’ let ‘im go._

 _Foolish dwarves,_ Bilbo thought to himself, tightening his arms around his body as he let the realization sink in. How long had this been going on? Since Mirkwood? Before that? Since the mountains? Since Rivendell?

Then he recalled the conversation between himself and Bofur on the mountainside. And he remembered the exchange in the cave, before they’d been captured by the goblins. Since then. At the very least, since then.

He sighed again, this time audibly, and covered his face with his hands.

It never occurred to him that the dwarf might have feelings for him. Indeed, he hardly thought it possible that any of them should have feelings for him, let alone that he might be a possible object of conflict. And he had spilled to Bofur his feelings for Thorin, and then treated him so unkindly in the cave.

That explained a lot. It explained more than he had even realised needed to be explained in that moment.

Looking over his shoulder into the cell behind him, he saw Thorin’s form though the dwarf barely moved. He hardly looked like he was breathing, though the soft exhalations made it clear that he was. Bilbo wondered how Thorin felt. Did Thorin have feelings for him too? Was that why Kíli had spoken to Bofur in the first place? Were they rivals? Or, supposed rivals. It seemed Bofur had already decided he was out of the race. He’d said as much.

 _Bilbo, you fool,_ he thought again, gritting his teeth in frustration. _Of course he would give up. You told him you wanted to be more than a friend to Thorin._

And he felt the fool as he pondered it further. The way Thorin had been treating him until they’d been rescued by the eagles. The cruel and careless things he’d said to him. And yet he still had feelings for the dwarf. And yet Bofur, who had been nothing but kind to him – even kinder, he realized, knowing that the dwarf knew all along that he had not chance – since the beginning. Sharing with him, offering him a listening ear, holding his hand in the frightening Mirkwood nights.

In the cell behind him, he heard a rustling and glanced over his shoulder at Thorin. The heir of Durin had been awake, and for a moment Bilbo wondered if his mystery included an ability to hear the hobbit’s thoughts.

As if in answer to that, the deep baritone spoke once, softly, “I know you are there, Halfling.”

Bilbo didn’t say anything, and it was all for the better, because a few moments later one of the elven guard walked down the hall and peered into the cell before walking back to his post.

After the elf vanished, Thorin got up and walked to the bars until he was quite close to the hobbit, and he sat down again, reaching through the bars until he was able to find what he had been blindly searching for – the hobbit’s hand. It was, in effect, no different than the nights they’d spent in that inky blackness of Mirkwood forest. Blinded by darkness, or the invisibility that was afforded by the ring made no difference to Thorin. He was able to find the small hand and hold it in his own, like it fit.

And all Bilbo could sense, as he returned the gesture, was that his left hand was empty.

“How are the others?” Thorin whispered after a while, keeping his voice low so the elven guard wouldn’t become aware of Bilbo’s presence. As yet, they had no knowledge that he was there, and if they were to escape it was best that they remained ignorant.

Bilbo swallowed, though when he responded there was an odd hoarse character to his voice, like his throat housed something foul. “They’re all still there,” he answered as candidly as possible, but he couldn’t escape that conversation he’d overheard.

“All 12 of them?”

“Yes.”

Thorin’s tone was pleased, though still soft. “And they are alright?”

“Yes, I suppose,” Bilbo replied, this time having to choke back a cough as the dryness in his throat became more pronounced.

“You suppose?”

Bilbo didn’t know what to say and pulled his hand out of Thorin’s. He didn’t respond to that question, but instead offered, “I think I’ve come up with a way for us to escape.”

“When?”

“Soon. There’s a river that runs under the city, and I’m…well I’m quite certain if I can get the keys, I can get us all out by that way.”

“Good.” Thorin’s voice raised a bit, though the echo and the sound of distant footsteps alerted him to the fact that he was speaking too openly. “And what then?” He reached a second time for Bilbo’s hand, but the hobbit moved just a bit to the side such that he wouldn’t be able to find a trace of him through the bars.

“I’ll explain it all when we get there,” Bilbo replied. He was so confused that he wasn’t certain what more to say, or how to act, or even what to do. So it was best to think on the escape plan.

Thorin laughed a bit, though it was a low, deep sound in his chest, and had Bilbo not known the sound of his voice so well he might not have heard it at all. “Gandalf was right about you.” When Bilbo didn’t respond, he continued, doing his best to mimic the wizard’s intonation, “there is more to Mr. Baggins than any of you yet know,” and he concluded with a hint of endearment, “including himself.”

“Apparently,” Bilbo echoed in a voice that was hollow. Whatever it was that Thorin was thinking of him, his mind was in a different place entirely. Thorin might have thought the more to him was his ability to get them out of tight situations, but for Bilbo the more he discovered about himself was his own ability to sew threads between others hearts and his own. “You should get some sleep,” he whispered again, and without another word he got up and walked back down the hall to the others.

Bilbo didn’t return to Thorin directly again until their escape. He walked the halls and kept his eyes on the entire dwarven company, but he spent more time with the others than he yet had before. Yet, despite all his waiting and the sensitive ears, he never again heard Bofur or Kíli mention his name. Nothing at all. Had he not been in the hall in that moment, at that time, he might have heard nothing at all.

He couldn’t decide whether that would have been a good thing or not.

Chance shone upon them when the elves had a celebration with lavish wine. The elven guard were careless in their duties, and it was hardly a challenge for the hobbit to steal the keys and systematically release the dwarves. Starting on one end of the hall, he went cell by cell, whispering brief instructions to the dwarves before releasing them. The last cell he went to before Thorin’s was the one in which Dori, Ori, Bofur and Kíli were all held. He had hardly opened the latch when the youngest pressed past him and collided with his brother, who had remained with Bilbo when the others went in the direction of the underground river. For the first time since the journey had begun, the youth of the two dwarves was most obvious in that moment. No longer brazen and foolhearty, they cried and clung to each other. The innocence of their youth made emotions plain and straightforward – unashamed even, in spite of the many eyes that saw the tight, frightened reunion. Dori and Ori went in the direction of the others and Bofur went to follow them, wanting more than anything to find Bombur and ensure that his younger brother was doing well but Bilbo caught his shoulder as he moved past, exchanging a brief glance with the dwarf before he went off with the others. Bilbo wanted so much to talk to him, but in that moment there wasn’t time.

Making his way to the last cell, he released Thorin, and hardly had a chance to say anything to the kingly dwarf before Thorin had pushed past him, making his way for the others. No thanks, not even a simple recognition of the hobbit’s presence other than a nod of the head in passing.

The more things changed, the more they stayed the same, Bilbo pondered to himself as he ran after him down the hall. Only a few nights prior, he’d been sitting by the cell and Thorin had snaked his hand through the bars just to hold his own. And that same night, he’d learned something valuable too. The same thought that continued to haunt him as he helped each of the dwarves safely into the barrels through which they were going to escape, and on as the barrels were thrown into the river and he clung to the exterior of one and was nearly drowned in the icy cold water.

He, Bilbo Baggins, not-even-a-proper-burglar, was _loved._ And he had no idea what to do with that knowledge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bilbo doesn't know what to do and who to love! does he love the majestic dwarf king who can't seem to decide how he feels about him, or the perpetually optimistic miner who was willing to give him up if it would make him happy?
> 
> bilbo, if you're taking advice, i have a suggestion.
> 
> thank you to my lovely readers who keep me going with the wonderful comments and suggestions! i thought about making this chapter longer, but i'm getting tired. r&r!


	9. Kindly Unspoken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lots of people thinking about stuff, both in barrels and on barrels.

Something phenomenal happens when a group of people are left alone to their own thoughts. With enough time, it’s almost as though the boundary between one mind and another blurs, and thoughts slip in and out in a dance of sorts, shared and passed from one to other. And the permeable nature of these minds is unknown to others, though the same thought has travelled through them all. It started with the youngest, and nothing seemed to spark introspection quite like being alone in a barrel.

_Well, at leas’ now I know._

It had been a battle to get Kíli into a different barrel from his brother, though arguably they might have been able to pull it off (after all, Bombur’s barrel was able to float, albeit a little lower than the others) but eventually the young dwarf had succumbed to being separated from him again, comforted only by the knowledge that they were, at the very least, no longer imprisoned, and that the second they were released from their current confines, nothing would be able to separate them.

And Kíli really needed to talk to his brother.

It had been a long time running, and though he’d often suspected and tried to drop subtle hints, he finally knew the truth. Bofur admitted his feelings for Bilbo. And more than that, he seemed content to continue loving him in spite of the fact that the hobbit showed no interest in him whatever.

And Bilbo was in love with his uncle. And his uncle seemed to have feelings for the hobbit, though he had a pretty horrible way of expressing them. The young archer added Thorin to his mental list of people he needed to talk to.

Then there was Kíli, the youngest, the end of the chain, the last little link. Where did he fit into all this mess? And what did he want? He wanted his uncle to be happy. He wanted Bofur to be happy too. But more than anything, he wished that Bofur might have been happy with him.

It was silly, in all actuality. Incredibly silly. So silly, in fact, that Kíli felt like a child whenever he tried to think about it. And compared to the rest of them, he was a child. Too young to go on the journey, if not for his uncle’s permission.

Too young to fully understand? He didn’t think so, but he didn’t know.

 _Stop tha’, Kí,_ he could almost hear his brother scolding him from inside his head. _You don’ know for sure. You haven’ even ask’d ‘im yet._

 _I know enough, Fí, an’ get out o’ my head!_ he rebuffed with irritation, and he tried to steady himself as he shifted in the barrel. _I’m jus’ Kíli._

_I’m jus’ a silly dwarf._

Bofur patted the flask on his side several times as the barrel bobbed up and down, jostled by every small movement of his body and the water. At first the little leaks had discouraged him, but with as little of the water had made its way through his clothes, he was convinced that the portrait was still safe. The flask had kept it undamaged through the deluge on the mountainside – certainly it could keep the portrait safe from the little bits of water that sloshed in and dampened the bottom of the barrel.

It was strange to him, thinking back on their brief escape from the dungeons, the way Bilbo had lingered at the cell door. Relief had flooded the aging miner when he saw the hobbit there and alive, but there was something in Bilbo’s eyes that had struck him as he left him then. Something different. Like he’d aged more than the time they’d been down there. Bofur wondered what things he’d underwent in that place. What he’d seen. How he’d survived. How many times he’d attempted to free them, how many schemes had run through his little head before he’d settled on the success.

And a brilliant success it was, too. Right down to letting the elves themselves help the dwarves escape.

The hobbit often sold himself short.

The conversation in the cell was hardly fresh in his mind anymore, though the fuel behind it was always present. He wondered if Bilbo was with Thorin, or if perhaps the hobbit had found a way to bring himself closer to their leader. And the more he thought on that, the more he felt a dull ache that told him it was right. He just wished that Thorin might have been a bit more affectionate with him. If, as Kíli had implied, the feelings were there and Thorin had already laid claim to the Halfling, his abilities at winning the hobbit’s heart were lacking. Even in their escape initially, Thorin had been less than enthused about forcing himself into a barrel. There was no praise for the daring escape, no accolades for the brilliantly devised plan, only critique. Things were going back to the way they were at the beginning. Something was going on inside Thorin – that much was clear. The weight of the task, perhaps. And ever the optimist, Bofur had a difficult time holding that weight against Thorin, as his duty was far greater than the rest of theirs. But in spite of all that, he hated to see the hobbit suffer, for Bilbo did indeed suffer. Every time he was rebuffed by the dwarf lord, Bofur could watch the hobbit sink just a little bit more. Recognition was important to him, and more than anyone he deserved it.

Yet still, after all that he had seen and all that he had said, Bofur had given up this fight. Bilbo wanted Thorin, and Bofur wanted Bilbo to be happy. Even if it was with someone else. Patting the flask once more with a bittersweet smile crossing his face, he imagined the kind of friendship that could grow from being at the hobbit’s side; a companion, if that was all. _Tha’ would be enough._

_But is that really enough?_

Clinging to the top of the barrel, Bilbo was having a hard time not losing the feeling in his limbs as the cold water bit into him, eating away at his nerves and slowly killing the sensation until he was nothing more than a chattering, shivering wet collection of parts. There was no telling which dwarf’s barrel he clung to now. He knew it wasn’t Bombur’s, for that one floated a deal lower than the others, but who might be inside he could only guess.

And at first he thought it might have been Thorin. And then he wondered if it might have been Bofur.

How does one respond to such news? It still struck Bilbo as odd; phenomenally odd. Who was he, really, in the grand scheme of things? Bilbo Baggins, not really very Tookish at the moment, nor indeed for most of the journey. He struggled to maintain a hold of the barrel and slipped into the water deeper than before, finally grasping at the top and pulling himself out again so that his lungs could fill with air.

He wanted so much to talk to Bofur about what he had overheard in the cell.

But what would he say to him? “Hello, I hear you’re in love with me.” No of course not. What then? What would he say? Would he explain to him that he didn’t know what he wanted? Or did he? Did he know? He wanted Thorin. He thought he wanted Thorin. Did he want Thorin?

Echoes of past insults, rebuffs and complications all came flooding back, the most recent of which being back in the elven dungeons. The odd juxtaposition of the hand holding one night, and the frustration another was too much for Bilbo to handle in that moment. Did Thorin want him? From what Kíli had started to say in the cell, he would have believed that Thorin did. But then why was he acting this way?

Thorin had a lot of things on his mind, or so Bofur had said to him that day on the mountainside. But was that true? Did Thorin have a lot on his mind? _I suppose he does,_ thought Bilbo to himself, though it didn’t satisfy the thoughts that nagged at him. Alright, so Thorin had a lot on his mind. Then why bother with a silly little hobbit? Why even consider him an option? Why set a mark out against others?

Up and down, in and out, these thoughts wove their way from one mind to another long through the days and nights. The barrels were bound together by the men of Laketown and Bilbo was able to sneak off with the help of the ring into the city to dry himself and procure some food. It was the next day, when Bilbo set about to releasing the dwarves from their oaken-cask prisons, that Bilbo was finally able to have some resolution to his emotional problem.

The first barrel he opened was Thorin’s, and the dwarf emerged in a much fouler mood than he had gotten in. The wild look in his eyes said that the journey had been far from pleasant, and he blamed his current state of wet discomfort on the hobbit. But Bilbo had done plenty of thinking on his barrel ride, and hardly gave the dwarf a chance to further berate him and castigate him. “Halfling!”

“Oh what now?!” he scolded the not-yet king under the mountain, and the hurt that had been building up from the inability to know exactly how Thorin felt rushed to the surface. “Are you alive or are you dead? Are you in prison or aren’t you? This is your adventure, _not_ mine! Now get up and help me open the rest of these!” And without giving Thorin any time to respond, he stalked away to open the nearest barrel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tried a different writing style this time around. not sure what i think of it. expect the next chapter to be more talking and stuff. i have a feeling i'm going to spend one installment, maybe two, in laketown establishing character dynamics, and then they'll go to the mountain. we'll see.
> 
> also a wild kili - bofur crush appears! as if this wasn't already complicated enough. but my internal kili tells me that he always had a crush on bofur, which is why he was checking out his art to begin with. *sighs* fucking dwarves.
> 
> i went book-verse in this one. i know they're doing something different in the movie by not having the barrels sealed (why?) and i didn't want that so i didn't. the end.


	10. Love and Attraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the dwarves escape their barrels, and thorin, bilbo, fili and kili walk to laketown to get supplies.

The next barrel to open contained the young archer, and just as he had emerged from the cell, he nearly sprung from the wooden case and started calling for his brother. “Fí!”

Bilbo watched as the young dwarf followed the muffled sound of his brother’s voice, and all but tore the barrel apart to let him out. His youthful energy left a lot to be desired, and the hobbit felt a slight dampening to his mood and his irritation at Thorin as he watched the pair of them look after each other to make sure the other was okay. “Can I get a hand?” he called to them, gesturing to the rest of the barrels, and without hesitation the two took off and began systematically releasing the others one by one. It wasn’t long before all the dwarves were freed from their confines – some of the older ones would need some rest and care to recover from the journey, but for the most part, everyone had come out in one piece.

When all the dwarves were safely on the shore and drying out, Kíli pulled his brother aside and whispered in his ear, “Khâzash, I need t’ talk t’ you.”

“ ‘bout wha’?” Fíli asked with as much secrecy in his voice, but they were interrupted by Thorin’s loud voice.

“We shall need supplies. Fíli, Kíli, you will accompany the Halfling and I to Laketown.” Then Thorin turned and looked among the dwarves who seemed to be in the best shape. Many didn’t look well, and some were completely unconscious. Bofur was tending to his brother, who was numbered with the unconscious, but he seemed fit, so Thorin added, “Bofur, look after the others until we return.”

And Bofur glanced up to nod his understanding to the dwarf lord, but his gaze seemed to catch the hobbit, and Bilbo was watching him very peculiarly.

Kíli noticed the exchange, and his own expression fell.

“Wha’?” Fíli pressed as his brother’s face shattered. “Khâzash?”

Kíli shook his head, eyes wide. “We’ll talk on th’ road. Stay back from our uncle.”

The quartet set off on foot towards Laketown, Thorin leading the way and Bilbo trailing behind him, though not as close as he had in the past. It took some manoeuvring for Fíli and Kíli to fall back far enough to not be overheard by the hobbit, nor scolded by their uncle, but they resorted to whispering, which seemed the best way for them to talk without being overheard.

When it seemed safe enough, Fíli whispered, “Now wha’ is it, khâzash?”

Kíli kept his eyes ahead of him. “You remember wha’ we talked abou’ before Mirkwood forest?”

“ ‘course,” Fíli replied casually. He nudged his brother in a loving, if teasing way. “An’?”

“An’ I was righ’,” he answered tersely. “He does love the hobbit.”

“He told y’, Kí?”

Kíli nodded. “Tha’s not all, khâzash.” He bit his lower lip and glanced back up at his uncle and the hobbit. Bilbo had glanced back at the pair of them and locked eyes with Kíli, revealing something that the dwarf could not yet quite understand, though he didn’t like the feeling that gaze gave him. When Bilbo turned his attention back to Thorin, Kíli spoke again. “He’s happy like tha’.”

“Like wha’?”

“Fí!” Kíli growled, and gave his brother a firm smack on the shoulder. “Are you no’ listenin’ t’ me?! I jus’ said he’s happy!”

Fíli shoved him back in frustration. “If he’s happy then let ‘im be.”

Kíli glared back at his brother darkly. “Khâzash!”

“Wha’?!”

They stared at each other for a while before Thorin’s voice broke into their minds once more.

“Fíli! Kíli!”

Turning to meet their uncle’s penetrating gaze, both dwarves froze and immediately averted their eyes.

“Sorry uncle.”

Though Kíli didn’t feel particularly sorry, nor did he acknowledge it further when they fell into step again and Fíli grabbed his arm to get his attention. “Did you tell ‘im, Kí?”

“Tell him wha’?”

“You know wha’.”

Kíli fell silent and ignored his brother’s petition.

“Then you need t’ stop this,” Fíli resolved openly, glancing up and himself surprised to find Bilbo gazing back at the pair of them once more, watching them curiously as if he wanted to fall back and talk to them. Or maybe just to Kíli. Fíli had no idea. He didn’t bother for the hobbit to turn away before he spoke again. “If y’ can’ tell ‘im how y’ feel, then y’ can’ expec’ him t’ return it.”

“Wha’ d’y’ know abou’ it?” Kíli bit back with venom in his tone, and Fíli just chuckled to himself.

“I know tha’ if y’ don’ tell ‘im, you’ve go’ no one to blame but yourself.” And Fíli gave his brother a clap on the shoulder before increasing his pace to fall into step with their uncle. Kíli simply trailed behind, his unrest clear upon his young face as he glared at the road under their feet. 

He’d thought, out of everyone, that Fíli would understand. And maybe Fíli did. He probably did. And he was probably right, too. But what good would it do him, really? If he told Bofur how he felt, what would it change? Would he see him as more than a child, more than the little dwarf-boy he used to make toys for? Kíli doubted it.

“Kíli?” The voice was not his brother’s, but the hobbit’s, and dark eyes glanced up to meet the Halfling’s light blue ones which begged the question that Kíli knew played just under the surface.

“Bilbo?” he answered, though the name came out more hostile than he initially intended it to.

“Can I…um…I mean…I need to talk to you, about something,” the hobbit floundered in an odd, nervous voice, and the dwarf watched him stumble over the words like they were foreign in his mouth. He didn’t like it.

“Alrigh’,” the youth replied, and he took a few long strides forward so they were now in step together, though distant from Thorin and Fíli. “Wha’ is it?”

Bilbo wrung his hands several times as he walked, clearly steeling himself for whatever he wanted to say which made Kíli all the more suspicious of him. When he finally said, “If I…ask you about something, can it stay between…just us?” Kíli had determined he didn’t trust him at all.

“It migh’,” Kíli answered quickly. “I tell my brother mos’ things, though,” he warned.

“Well…I suppose that’s fine. Just…don’t tell Bofur.”

 _Wait, what?_ Kíli nearly tripped over his own feet hearing the miner’s name on the hobbit’s tongue. “Wha’?!” His voice was louder than he intended it to be, and when both Fíli and Thorin glanced back at him, he held up his hands in apology. “Tripped,” he explained, and it seemed a satisfactory response because they returned to their conversation, though Fíli gave him a playful smirk. Then Kíli turned his full attention to the hobbit and his eyes warned. “Wha’ abou’ ‘im?”

Bilbo seemed to pick up on the tone just as much as Kíli was intentionally sharing it, and he glanced down at his hands for a moment longer before looking back up at the dwarf. “Look…it’s just…I heard the two of you. In the elvish prison. When you were talking…about me.”

 _No._ Kíli was not hearing this. He had a feeling he knew where it was going. “Did y’ now?”

“Please Kíli,” Bilbo pressed. “It’s just that I had no idea.”

“How ‘bout tha’.”

“Kíli?”

“Wha’?”

“What should I do?” The hobbit stepped in front of him so that he was looking directly in the young dwarf’s eyes, and the honesty and humility with which he approached the other made it hard for Kíli to completely push him away.

The archer sighed. “Why are y’ askin’ me?”

“Because you know about him, and I don’t know who else to ask.”

“And wha’ abou’ my uncle?” Kíli pressed, and he gestured ahead to where Fíli and Thorin were gradually disappearing along the road.

Bilbo locked eyes with Kíli for a moment with a deeper question inside them. “Does he?” the hobbit asked, not looking at Thorin but continuing to stare at the young dwarf.

“Does he wha’? Love y’?”

Bilbo’s face darkened at the statement and he nodded.

Kíli shifted his weight where he stood and nodded. “Yes, I think he does, Bilbo.” But the fact that Bilbo even had to ask was confirmation enough that Thorin had a terrible way of showing it. Indeed, his love might as well have been disgust with as often as he yelled at the poor Halfling. “Do y’ love ‘im?”

Bilbo sighed. “Yes…I think so.”

“Then leave Bofur alone,” Kíli spoke possessively, and he pushed past Bilbo to catch up with Thorin and Fíli. “He’s fine. Let ‘im let y’ go.”

“Is that what you would do?” Bilbo called after the young dwarf as he scuttled to catch up with him. He had to pick up his pace considerably, as Kíli was doing his best to get away from Bilbo, and the hobbit’s short legs were not quite so capable of such a stride. “Kíli?”

“Is _wha’_ wha’ I would do?”

“Would you leave him alone?” Bilbo pressed, his eyes ever studying Kíli’s face. There was something about the way the young dwarf darkened at the conversation at hand, and how he and his brother had conspired together that seemed familiar, though Bilbo was having a difficult time figuring out just why Kíli was being so difficult. The two of them had always gotten on well, though Kíli had gotten him into trouble a fair few times, but he’d always thought that the young dwarf at least liked him. When Kíli didn’t answer him, he added, “Look, I know you’re looking out for your uncle.”

“I’m no’ jus’ lookin’ out for my uncle,” the dwarf corrected tersely.

That statement caught Bilbo off-guard and his expression faltered. “Then who else are you looking out for?”

Kíli stopped again in his step and turned to look at the hobbit. He didn’t answer him but just locked eyes with him in a way that showed this conversation both angered and pained him. He didn’t want to fight with Bilbo. He liked him. But there was enough pain without the hobbit adding to it. “Leave Bofur alone,” he said finally, and he started walking again.

“Well…will you at least talk to him?” Bilbo pressed, and Kíli stumbled.

“Me?! Abou’ wha’?”

Bilbo hesitated, though the more he watched the young dwarf the more he started to put the pieces together. “Oh…”

“Oh?” Kíli answered, and he waited for a moment, watching the hobbit with wide eyes.

“I’m…I’m sorry.”

“Wha’?”

“I’m really sorry; I shouldn’t have.”

And then Kíli realised that Bilbo must have figured out just who he was protecting. “I don’ wan’ t’ talk abou’ it anymore,” Kíli admitted feebly.

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo spoke again.

“Don’,” Kíli replied quickly, and he increased his pace to catch up with his uncle and brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i just found out that ori did the portrait! but NEVER FEAR! i have already come up with a way to make it work in the context of this story (because i'm canon so shoot me).
> 
> poor kili. i just want to hug him.


	11. Lose It All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fili tells bofur that he might want to talk to his brother about something, which forces the young archer to talk about his feelings.

“Hey Bofur?”

“Wha’, lad?”

“My khâzash wants t’ talk t’ you.”

The miner glanced up as the young swordsman slipped past him, pausing to glance back at his brother with a playful smile. His younger brother was far from amused; as his dark eyes watched Fíli walk up to the older dwarf and speak to him with that mischievous look in his eyes, even though he had no idea what Fíli was saying, he knew he wanted to smack him. He met his brother’s gaze and when Fíli waved him in the direction of the toymaker, all Kíli could do was stare back at his brother with wide eyes.

“Khâzash!” he called after Fíli with a warning in his voice, but the other dwarf just went to thank the men of Laketown with the members of their company.

The past week spent in Laketown had been one of rest and relaxation for the dwarves, and many of them had needed the time to regain their strength and recover from the painful, jarring journey in the barrels. Yet still, the humans had been more than accommodating, and they had been treated in a kingly fashion, thanks to Thorin and his proclamation that he was the rightful King Under the Mountain who had returned. Most of it was a blur anyway; feasting, sleeping, speaking, caring for the sick and tending to their needs. Hardly enough time to think about trivial dramas like the one that was playing itself out now as they resumed their journey to the mountain.

Kíli wasn’t sure what Fíli was up to, but he didn’t like it, and he started walking with his little pony trailing behind him (among the supplies they’d been given by the humans) when the miner fell into step beside him.

“Your brother said y’ wanted t’ talk t’ me, lad?” Bofur asked in a calmly casual voice. As always, his eyes issued the same kindness that his smile did as he glanced sidelong at the young dwarf.

“Did he?” Kíli replied evasively, looking down at the road but feeling his face grow dark. He wondered how obvious it was in the waning light of day.

“Tha’ he did,” Bofur answered and he pulled out his pipe from among his supplies and pressing a pinch of tobacco in before lighting it. He glanced at the young dwarf, but Kíli hardly responded to the unspoken offer, so he put the tobacco away. Kíli kept himself silent as they walked, and when he didn’t speak for a while, the older dwarf pressed, “Did y’ no’?”

Kíli inhaled and exhaled slowly, looking for his brother among the group. If Fíli had come anywhere near him he would have hit him then and there. As much as he loved his brother – more than anyone else – this was going a step too far. Still, when the silence began to get painful, he finally admitted, “No, he’s righ’. I did.”

“Wha’s on your mind, lad?”

Where to begin? Kíli slowed down as he grasped at things to say to the other. He didn’t want to say anything. There was no point. He’d only be adding more pain to an already painful situation. Why bother?

But Fíli was right. If he never told Bofur, Bofur would never know. And Bofur would never be able to decide if he felt anything in return.

“D’y’ remember when we were in th’ dungeon? The elves?” he started tentatively, and his voice was low. It lacked the usual youthful exuberance that was often so strong in his tone.

“Tha’ I do,” Bofur replied with an understanding tone, though he had to move closer to the young dwarf to hear his words. They were swallowed by his own body as he spoke into his chest, either from discomfort or nerves. The elder couldn’t be entirely sure which. “I told y’ Kíli no’ t’ worry.”

“No, it’s no’ tha’,” the younger interrupted before the elder could get much further in his assumptions. “I know tha’…I know you’ll let ‘im be with my uncle.”

At this point Bofur kept his tongue and let the youth speak, as he couldn’t know what he had to say. First he wondered whether Thorin might have learned of his affections. Would it upset him? He posed no threat. He was no rival to him. Short of the hobbit saying to him directly that he didn’t love Thorin but rather had feelings for him, Bofur could forsee no situation in which he would pose any threat. And even in that scenario, he wouldn’t believe the hobbit. Actions spoke louder than words, and the hobbit was clearly in love with Thorin. Anyone who couldn’t see as much was blind.

Kíli was surprised when the older dwarf said nothing to him in response, but when he glanced back at the older miner, his eyes were locked on the young dwarf’s face, waiting patiently as he thoughtfully smoked his pipe. It made him even more nervous than before and he glanced back down at the ground. “Bofur…” He spoke the name and let it trail off, not sure how to go on.

The silence hung over them, broken only occasionally by a whinny from one of the ponies, and the far off conversations of others in their company. Bofur wasn’t sure if he should say anything, but his senses told him to wait. He was certain that whatever it was the young dwarf had to say, he would say it in his own time and it would come. In that time he finished smoking, and quietly put the pipe back among his things.

And all that gave Kíli time to think. He let his eyes scan around him, and was surprised to find once again that the hobbit was watching him, as if his intuition told him what was happening between them. Stranger still, the hobbit gave him a small smile, almost encouragingly so, and it came as a surprise to Kíli that such did more for his courage than his brother forcing him to speak in the first place. Perhaps it was because Bilbo was on the other side of the same coin. They shared something between them.

“Bofur,” he began again, and this time there was a bit more strength in his voice. “Wha’ would y’ say, if I told y’ tha’ there migh’ be someone tha’…want’s y’ t’ be happy, even if it’s no’ with ‘im?”

They were not words that Bofur expected to hear, but as the younger spoke them there was this odd feeling that he already knew in the back of his mind what was being explained. Bofur wasn’t sure how he knew, but something told him that he had known all along, even if he wasn’t aware of it. When Kíli’s voice dropped off, it took Bofur a moment to gather up his own response. “An’…is he happy, lad?” He asked the question openly.

“I don’ know,” the younger replied honestly, and his voice cracked a bit as he said it. “He’s no’ sure.”

“Kíli.” The voice made the young dwarf stop and glance up at the aging miner. When he looked in those eyes, he knew that his affections were known now.

“I don’ know,” he said again, quieter this time.

“C’mere lad,” Bofur instructed gently, and he offered the youth an arm. Kíli didn’t hesitate to slip under the others arm and let his own arm snake around the miner’s waist as they walked together. “How long, Kíli?” he asked once the younger seemed to have calmed a bit.

The youth bit his lip. “Longer th’n y’ migh’ think,” he answered evasively.

“Since before we lef’ th’ Blue Mountains?”

All Kíli could do was nod. Bofur gave him a squeeze as he continued to hold his arm around the younger dwarf. They walked like that for a while, neither saying anything, though they were easily the object of many curious glances and conversations. Still, neither was bothered by the fact. If anything, it made Kíli smile a bit to himself. Just this moment of being seen for who he was and recognized by Bofur was enough for him. And the fact that Bofur had yet to push him away meant more than the other would ever know.

It was finally Bofur who broke the silence between them, though his voice was gentle and had that same layer of kindness that endeared him so much to the younger dwarf.

“You’re so young, Kíli.”

“I’m no’!” Kíli protested with a bit more exuberance than he initially intended, though he spoke before he let himself think about it, and Bofur responded by squeezing his arm once more. “Y’ think I’m too young t’ understand? Well I’m no’!”

“Tha’s no’ wha’ I’m sayin’, lad,” he answered, his voice never rising to overpower, and the youth fell silent. “I jus’ don’ understand why a young dwarf like y’ would waste your time on…well, an ol’ miner like m’self.”

It seems so arbitrary that at first Kíli didn’t think he could respond. But after a moment he glanced up to look directly at the other, his dark, youthful eyes seeming to peer into the mind of the other. “D’ y’ think you’re wasting time with th’ hobbit?”

Bofur was taken off-guard by the question and he met the gaze. It was probably the first time he recognized Kíli as grown – no longer the little dwarfling that he used to make toys for from time to time, but of age. A warrior. With a mind and will of his own. And though he wasn’t the sharpest among them, right now he showed his own inner wisdom. A wisdom that the aging miner had to respect. As they looked at each other, Bofur’s smile spread and Kíli could hardly contain his own smile which sought to mirror him.

“You’re righ’, lad.”

Kíli chuffed and looked around. “I’m righ’, ‘bout wha’?”

“You’re no’ so young,” Bofur concluded, and his arm that had remained on the other’s shoulders came down to clap him on the back. “You’re grown.”

Kíli floundered and glanced down at the ground, surprised at how much it meant to hear the other say such. “Stop tha’,” he replied awkwardly, a playful laugh dancing at the edges of his voice.

“You’re a good lad, Kíli,” the elder continued, only marginally aware of the shyness that overtook the otherwise mischievous youth. It was strange, but something he’d never thought of before was now beginning to seem not so absurd at all. So he ventured a question. “Kíli…would y’ have talked t’ me if your khâzash hadn’ come t’ me firs’?”

The youth didn’t glance but the silence was as good of an answer as any words might have been.

“Then y’ should thank ‘im,” Bofur added after a moment, before patting the youth on the back a second time as he let his arm drop back to his side. “Le’s talk abou’ this when we stop for th’ nigh’, alrigh’ lad?”

Kíli didn’t know what to say. So he simply nodded. As his eyes ventured up to scan the rest of the party, he saw Bilbo far ahead with a knowing smile on his face. They shared a glance, and continued on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm a masochist and a sadist. and i feel really bad, knowing where this is going ultimately.
> 
> r&r please. and thanks to all my regular readers/commenters. you help me keep this going.


	12. You're the Only One I Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a rest in the mountain foothills, 3 conversations, and 1 confrontation. mostly fluff and angst, from multiple directions. and a wild balin appears again.

Tongues were already wagging by the time they set up their camp for the night. It was already chill and dark, and when the whole group arrived and started setting up a fire and tying off the ponies, nearly every set of eyes were locked on the miner and the young prince. Kíli left Bofur to go to his brother while the older dwarf helped Dwalin and Balin unload what supplies they would need for the night, and when the young dwarf saw the blond braids he gave one of them a good, swift tug.

“Oy!” The elder turned to face he brother, rubbing his head where the braid was connected to his skull painfully. “Wha’ was tha’ about?”

“Wha’ d’ y’ think?” Kíli answered, giving his brother a shove; not hard, indeed it was playful in nature though his face betrayed his annoyance. “My khâzash needs t’ talk t’ you?”

“Y’ did!”

“I wasn’ ready, Fí!” the younger accused, reaching to give another braid a tug but this time Fíli beat him to it, blocking the younger and giving him a bit of a shove back.

“Kí, y’ never would have been ready if I’d le’ y’,” Fíli answered matter-of-factly. “Y’ know ‘m righ’.”

Kíli shoved him again, just once more like an unspoken exclamation point, then he glanced back towards the ponies, where Bofur was helping unload. The older dwarf must have sensed the eyes on him, because he glanced back and met Kíli’s gaze, to which the youth immediately diverted his gaze and turned back to look at Fíli.

Fíli caught it and for a moment just stared at his younger brother before a broad smile spread across his face. “Khâzash…”

“I know, I should thank y’,” Kíli admitted quietly, meeting his brother’s gaze and letting his own playful, mischievous smile cross his face. “Bu’ y’ still shouldn’ of done tha’!”

Fíli threw an arm around the younger’s shoulder and gave him a strong squeeze. “You’re welcome, khâzash.”

“ ’m still mad a’ you.”

“You’re welcome.”

From the other side of their camp, Bofur returned to his work, but there was a smile on his face that hadn’t been there before and as he piled up supplies he didn’t immediately notice the way Balin’s face mirrored his smile. When the supplies had been gathered and the food was sorted for the evening meal, Bofur straightened and stood for a moment, his eyes venturing back to the young archer, horsing around with his brother in a playful and loving way. His smile softened as he watched them, but it did not go unnoticed.

“He‘s a good lad.”

Turning his attention to the voice, Bofur met the knowing gaze of Balin, whose old eyes seemed to have a subtle joy hidden in their depths. The toymaker met the glance joyfully, and more than that – lovingly. Which was a strange juxtaposition, given their previous conversation.

“Tha’ he is, Balin.” He kept his eyes on the youths, still not entirely certain whether what he’d decided was the right choice to make. But the more he thought about it, the more he knew he couldn’t make any other. He wanted Bilbo to be happy, but he wanted Kíli to be happy to. And there was something about the youth now that made him feel that he could truly be happy with him too. Kíli would keep him young. Vibrant. Playful.

“It’s a funny thing, Bofur,” Balin continued softly, following the toymaker’s gaze to the youths. The pair seemed to notice that they were being watched at this point because both sets of eyes met Balin and Bofur’s watchful gaze. Kíli’s face darkened slightly and Fíli smirked and waved to the both of them, mouthing “you’re welcome” to add to his brother’s embarrassment. The two elders returned the wave and Bofur found himself laughing inspite of himself. When they turned their attention back, is finally clicked what Balin had said and the miner glanced at him curiously.

“Wha’s a funny thing?”

The snow-haired dwarf have the miner a look that said he already knew, but what he said was, “Wha’ do you think, laddy?”

And he didn’t have to say. Bofur knew.

“It is funny,” he confirmed, shifting with his bedroll in his hands. The flask at his side still made its existence known by pressing into his skin from time to time, but it didn’t seem to weigh as much as it had before. Not forgotten, but not as painful as it had been before. “I never though’…” Though he let his voice trail off and gave Balin an accusing glance. “You knew.”

“I helped raise those boys,” Balin responded with a distance in his eyes. A layer of sadness too. Bofur thought he understood where it came from. The bittersweet joy and sorrow of caring for the children of the one he’d loved but never truly had. “I knew.”

“Bu’ y’ never said.”

Balin chuckled to himself and glanced up at the miner, a hint of good humour undergirding the bittersweet reminiscence. “And wha’ would y’ ‘ve had me say?”

Bofur joined in the laughter and shrugged. “I guess you’re righ’.”

It was Bombur who prepared the evening meal for the company. Once the fire was roaring and warm, the group huddled together closely to keep warm, Kíli pressed between his brother and Bofur, and though many observant eyes took in the change knowingly, no words were spoken about their new closeness. When Kíli was drafted to watch the ponies with Ori, Fíli stepped in and volunteered to go in his stead, giving his little brother a knowing smirk before taking off with the other dwarf.

And Thorin watched it all with abhorrence.

One by one, the dwarves each adjusted their bedrolls and closed their eyes, letting sleep take them and comfort them in the shadow of the mountain. As expected, Kíli rolled his out next to Bofur’s, and as the others gradually fell asleep, the pair of them laid facing each other, the younger watching the elder with wide eyes, and the elder with a thoughtful smile on his face as he gazed at the space between them.

“Bofur?”

Brown met brown as two pairs of eyes connected, and the elder shared his smile with the youth.

“Wha’, lad?”

“Wha’ are y’ thinkin’ abou’?”

The smile spread, softly. “You,” was his honest answer, and it had the immediate effect of making Kíli’s face darken again as he averted his eyes.

“Wha’ abou’ me?” he pressed, their whispers among the only sounds amidst a great collection of snores and whinnies, and the nipping of the autumn wind.

“Tha’ I never really saw y’ before today.” There was a kind of candid nature to the words and Kíli’s own smile spread, though there was a silly nature to his expression, as if he was still trying to process whether or not this was reality. There was a level of disbelief that the young dwarf still carried. He’d resigned himself to being unseen, but fate had seen differently.

“An’ wha’ d’ y’ see now?”

Bofur thought for a moment and studied the youth’s expression. Though Kíli was often playful, mischievous, and wore a bright smile, there was something about his face now that said the joy and happiness he was experiencing in this moment was quite unlike the rest of that. Like fulfilment. Like relief. Pure, unadulterated happiness.

“I see you,” he answered simply. “No’ th’ dwarfling tha’ used t’ love my toys so much. No’ the young prince. Jus’ Kíli.”

The words seemed to reach the younger somewhere because he let his hand wander over to the other dwarf’s bedroll and laced his fingers with the calloused hand.

They fell asleep like that, and Thorin’s disapproval watched them from a distance.

For his own part, Bilbo was pleased for the pair. He’d kept an eye on the proceedings as they had been walking, though he couldn’t hear the conversation. But hobbits are as intuitive as they are lightfooted, and love the wellbeing of others as much as their own. He had sensed something was happening on the road, and the fireside had confirmed what he already perceived to be true. Curling up near Nori (and not far at all from Thorin) he shivered on his own bedroll, pleased and yet envious of the shared warmth the pair would have, given how close they were. Glancing over his shoulder to Thorin, he wondered what (if anything) was going to happen between them.

Thorin’s eyes were open – he hadn’t yet slept – and they were focused on his nephew.

Bilbo watched the kingly dwarf for a while before he decided to cast it all aside and he sat up, taking his bedroll and draping it over his shoulders before walking over to the dwarf. “Can’t sleep?” he offered. It was a casual attempt at conversation at best, though he ventured he knew why the other couldn’t sleep.

“No,” Thorin answered evenly, and though his disease was not because of the hobbit, the emotion bled into his words.

Not waiting for any kind of permission, Bilbo sat on the ground beside Thorin, his bedroll still draped over his shoulders to keep the warmth inside. It helped, having that layer between his skin and the night air. The dwarves were better prepared for the weather. Their furs, leathers, and layers kept them well protected from the elements. The hobbit still wore his jacket and breaches, though his legs and arms were almost entirely bare.

“Do you…do you want to talk?” Bilbo continued, his own attempt at offering an olive branch, though it was hardly his role to offer one. After all, it was Thorin who continually seemed to care so little for the hobbit’s contributions.

Thorin was very quiet. So quiet, in fact, that for a while Bilbo thought perhaps he hadn’t spoken at all, but had instead thought the words without letting them slip out of his mouth. He had half a mind to say it again when Thorin shifted and finally brought himself to a sitting position, never looking at the hobbit directly, though it was clear he was keenly aware of him. When he spoke, what he said was, “And what would I say, master hobbit?”

Bilbo turned his attention to the darkness. “Nothing at all.” The pair sat like that for a while, no words passing between them, though Bilbo had a slew of them flying around in his head. He wanted to smack the dwarf, if that was acceptable for one who would be king. Likely not, though Thorin could use a good smack, at any rate. When that scenario played itself out in the hobbit’s head and left him feeling very dissatisfied with the mental result, he ventured a few more words to the brooding form beside him. “I’d think you’d just be happy for them.”

“He’s my nephew,” Thorin responded, as if that was the answer to whatever his internal turmoil was.

 _Really? I hadn’t noticed,_ was what Bilbo wanted to say, but he curbed his tongue and offered instead, “Yes, and look at how happy he is right now.”

And if Thorin had any idea who Bofur’s affections had been directed to before, how might he have responded then.

The hobbit shivered under his bedroll. He probably wouldn’t have said a word. Kíli had told him that Thorin had feelings for him, but the more time passed, the harder it was for him to believe it.

Settling his bedroll and pressing himself tightly into a shuddering ball, the hobbit did his best to attempt sleep. “Goodnight, Thorin.”

His well-wishes seemingly fell on deaf ears, because Thorin offered nothing.

~*~

The next morning Thorin was still where Bilbo saw him last, his eyes heavy as if he hadn’t slept, though his stoney expression remained unchanged. The hobbit himself hadn’t slept so well either, though for a completely different reason. He had half a mind to ask if he could press himself between two dwarves the next night, for the chill was becoming unbearable for him. Would it have been too much to ask?

One by one, the dwarves were awakening and packing up their things to continue their journey. They were getting close now. Even at the present they found themselves in the rolling foothills of the Lonely Mountain, and the closer they drew to their final destination, the more their anticipation seemed to grow.

As they each took their things and readied for the journey, it seemed Bofur and Kíli came last. They lingered with each other at a distance from the others, and pressing their foreheads together for a moment in a gesture of affection, they parted to pack up their things and locate their ponies. It was while they were separated for that brief instance that Thorin took the opportunity to approach his nephew.

“Kíli.”

The youth heard the tone in his uncle’s voice, and when he glanced up to meet his face, there was a similar darkness on his own young face that in many ways mirrored the dwarf king.

“Uncle.”

They stared at each other with the same penetrating gaze that both had inherited from the line of Durin. Kíli shared so much in common with Thorin physically, and as they stared each other down, it was well known to the others to keep their distance. It was easy to tell both tempers were not ones to be tried.

“What are you doing, nephew?” Thorin finally broached. Behind him, some of the company had stopped to listen, and Bilbo was closest of all, though there was concern rather than curiosity on his face.

Kíli chuffed and puffed himself up so he could match his uncle’s stature, though his youth and his inexperience would ultimately run against him. “Wha’ d’ y’ think?” His tone offered a challenge, and Thorin picked it up with distaste.

“This is not the time or place,” Thorin warned under his breath dangerously, but the warning was not met with the response Thorin anticipated, for the young archer was not only frustrated, he was irritated.

“Jus’ because you can’ seem t’ find th’ righ’ time and place, you’re gunna try an' ruin this for me?” he barked, and it was loud enough that the others heard it. Embarrassed, they started moving along the path to get their distance with the hope of overhearing no more.

“Kíli!”

“Wha’ abou’ you an’ th’ hobbit?” he continued, and at this point the young dwarf gestured to Bilbo, who had been huddling in Thorin’s shadow. The hobbit responded by looking completely uncertain and he took a few steps back from them. Thorin’s gaze was unreadable, and he said nothing. “Oh, c’mon! Don’ ac’ like y’ don’ have feelings for him. I know you, uncle! I know how you are.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Thorin retorted, though his expression showed discomfort at the words.

“He loves you!” Kíli bit back, and he continued to glower at his uncle before he exasperatedly pushed past him to join the rest. “An’ jus’ because you don’ know how to love him, doesn’t mean you _don’_.”

It was a tense moment for all of them. The dwarves, for the most part, had heard everything that young Kíli had to say, and though Thorin’s words were swallowed as well spoken warnings, the proclamations from the younger continued to ring in their ears.

As Kíli passed Bilbo, he clapped the hobbit on the back, as an unspoken indication that should follow him, rather than be caught in Thorin’s wrath once more.

Bilbo didn’t hesitate to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was much longer than the others. i just needed to determine if i wanted to end this chapter on the fight, or begin the next one with it. the fight was happening either way.
> 
> (also i didn't change the accents because i'm so far into this that it would be a pain to go back and change it all so i'm just going to stick with what i've been doing.)
> 
> NOW I NEED SOME HELP. i have had at least one request for nsfw content. as it stands right now, this work is listed as open to all audiences. would you, those who read this consistently, prefer i add that, or stay away from it? i can go either way. i've written smut, and i've written fluff, and they don't always have to go together. its up to you.
> 
> as always, r&r. we'll see how much more i can get up. this upcoming week is spring break, BUT i have two major papers due the week i get back, plus i wanted to start working on my finals so i can actually walk in may. again, we'll see.
> 
> this gif basically sums up the last bit: http://25.media.tumblr.com/66cf40e64c652b73e3517fb4f72bc6bd/tumblr_mjmaf6oLwZ1qm0efro3_500.gif


	13. I Just Want You To Love Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more talking; a look into thorin finally, and bilbo gets nosey with bofur.

Thorin walked alone.

He often walked alone, even when there were others following him closely. It would be fair to say he walked alone even when heavily engrossed in conversation with another. Locked so tightly within his own mind, it was difficult for him to break outside of the confines of his own thoughts to reach for others. And even if he had been able to, he didn’t always want to. There was a security to be had in that mind; the safety and power of being an impregnable fortress to any kind of outside force.

At least that was how he liked to think of himself. But it was impossible to ignore the fact that Kíli’s words had found their way inside that fortress, and continued to echo through every corner of his brain. Kíli had the invincibility of ignorance on his side, courage borne from limited experience in the world of war and battle. He’d seen some action, certainly, along this journey, but there were chapters of their peoples’ history that were completely foreign to him. Stories and memories were two completely different things, and where he drew strength from a bedside tale, Thorin still carried the burden of painful memories.

And perhaps it was the memories of the past that haunted Thorin and kept a stopper in his emotions, and perhaps it was the anticipation of future struggle with future loss. Whatever the reason, Thorin truly feared letting himself fall into those kinds of emotions. They only made it more difficult.

The hobbit was no fighter. He had certainly saved them countless times now, but it was only a matter of time, Thorin thought to himself. No one was that lucky. Braver, stronger, more experienced warriors than he had fallen at his side in battle. He’d seen dwarves that he cared for, admired, and counted as friends torn down beside them. He’d buried allies and kin. He’d counted up the losses of those whose bodies could not be found.

His young nephew’s had lost their father in battle, but they had been too young to really remember. Fíli hardly remembered, and he’d been just old enough to understand. Neither had seen real battle. Neither had faced a fire-drake. Neither knew.

And yet, in spite of how much Thorin wanted to discount his young nephew’s words as the ravings of an naïve youth, they continued to rattle around in his skull.  
The heir of Durin didn’t have to look around to locate each and every member of his company. He could feel them, sense their presence, their ponies lead behind them on the mountain path, for riding was too treacherous. First Dwalin, who also kept a bit to himself like Thorin, his battle-hardened spirit as set apart and alone as the king he now followed. Then Balin and Nori; Balin, it seemed, had not succumbed to the hardness of war, though his constitution had always been something softer. Not incapable of being a warrior, but perhaps better at concealing the way in which it changed him. Then there was Dori and Ori, the second much like his compatriots, the two young princes. He was as naïve as the rest. Then came Gloin, his ability to cope with an embattled past overtaken by a brash and brazen personality. Oin followed, then Bifur, who sported yet one more of the scars of his warrior past. Bombur, like his brother, had less experience in these matters, not being from the Lonely Mountain but from the Blue Mountains. Then came Fíli and Bofur, and finally his youngest nephew was as far in the caravan as he could get from Thorin, and the hobbit was with him. All this Thorin could feel without so much as glancing behind him, for he knew each and every member of this company, and though he oft faced difficulties and frustrations with a few among them, he would not discount the loyalty that came from them. The simple act of answering his call and joining him in this quest was enough to endear them to him.

But not quite so much as to suffer the potential loss when they encountered Smaug again, which they very certainly would have to face.

Thinking back on the words that were still ringing in his well-protected brain, Thorin had to admit internally that his young nephew had been right, at least for his own part. He did have feelings for the hobbit. More than he wanted to admit to and more than he would ever fully express to anyone else. Partly it was because Bilbo seems to possess a remarkable brilliance under pressure, and an incredible amount of dumb luck, for one who had spent so much of his life gardening, enjoying the simple pleasures of a country life. On many levels, Thorin envied him. For Bilbo, all of this had been a choice. He could very well have chosen to stay in his hole in the ground with his comfortable chair, but he didn’t. Instead, he chose to join a group of dwarves he’d only just met to reclaim a home that wasn’t his to reclaim. Thorin envied him that kind of freedom. For his own part, Thorin did not feel the freedom to decide. In his mind it was all set in stone; this was his duty. He was fulfilling his role as heir. He was acting as king under the mountain. He was righting a distant but unforgotten wrong against his people.

And yet the more he thought about it, the more he knew that his feelings for the hobbit were deeper than envy. There was a softness and sensitivity to the hobbit that was almost unknown to the race of dwarves. Not in a weak and pitiable state, but rather in one of deep understanding that seemed to go under the surface. Bilbo had a knack for knowing just what to say to calm Thorin down, and just how to needle him to rile him up. It was like the hobbit had a sixth sense intuition on how their minds worked, though Thorin could not reverse the process.

Which was why Kíli’s affirmation that the hobbit loved him was also so prominent in his thoughts.

Thorin would never have guessed that Bilbo harboured feelings for him, though he had noticed how the hobbit trailed along behind him and oft came to speak to him when he was distraught. At those times, the dwarf king had assumed it was his sixth sense speaking. It had never occurred to him that Bilbo rarely offered such services to the other members of his company. But now that he thought about it, he should have known.

The dwarf chanced a glance behind him to spy the hobbit, but when his gaze landed upon Bilbo, he could feel his nephew gazing back at him with a youthful challenge. He turned his eyes ahead of him.

“Y’ see?”

Bilbo glanced at the young dwarf with sad eyes and followed the direction he was indicating. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The hobbit had stuck close to the young dwarf, mostly because he feared Thorin’s anger at the confrontation, as Thorin seemed quite capable of expressing his frustration to Bilbo often, even if the hobbit had nothing to do with it. This time he had everything to do with it, even though he hadn’t said a word. So, for his own part, it seemed safe to stay close to Kíli. But as he watched Bofur and Fíli just a few steps ahead of them, he couldn’t help but think back to the conversation in the elvish prison. Kíli seemed to all but have forgotten that conversation, but Bilbo didn’t. He wondered just how much of it was still real now, when Bofur seemed to have turned his attention elsewhere. Not that Bilbo wasn’t happy that the pair seemed to have affection for each other. Kíli was over the moon about it; the way he’d jumped to defend his relationship against his uncle was sign enough that he was invested. And given their conversation almost a week ago, such was obvious.

“I know he’s no’…” Kíli’s voice trailed off and he sighed, his shoulders slumping forward. “Jus’ trust me, he loves you.”

Kíli was trying so hard. Too hard, Bilbo thought as he watched the young dwarf. Guilt? Maybe. Maybe not. It was difficult to tell with him. He was rash and youthful, so it could have been anything, but Bilbo suspected it was at least partly motivated by guilt. Knowing that Bofur loved Bilbo and having taken Bofur for himself, part of keeping Bofur happy was making Bilbo happy. And wanting Thorin to accept the things he didn’t want to face.

“Khâzash?”

The dark-haired archer glanced up to meet his brother’s gaze, and he increased his gait so he could catch up with the blonde, allowing Bilbo a few moments to his own thoughts as the two discussed with each other some secret topic that was of great importance to them. Bofur walked behind them but before Bilbo, himself neatly tucked in the middle with his own pony behind him. The hobbit watched him for a few moments, determining what it was he wanted to say, before he pushed himself forward so that he could fall into step with the miner.

Bofur noticed his presence before the hobbit brought attention to himself, because he turned and smiled at him brightly, that same cheerful, upbeat smile that he seemed to share with everyone. It made the hobbit curious just what was behind it. He really had a positive outlook for a dwarf. But there was more behind it.

“Y’ alrigh’ there?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Bilbo replied honestly, and his eyes searched the dwarf curiously for a moment before he directed his attention back to the path. For a moment only, Kíli glanced over his shoulder and was torn from his conversation with Fíli, and though his eyes betrayed a sense of discomfort, his brother was keeping him occupied enough to not make a scene. Trying to ignore the frantic glance, Bilbo turned his attention back to the miner beside him. “Can I ask you something?”

Bofur seemed surprised and he laughed lightly. “O’ course.”

The hobbit hesitated and glanced up to see if Kíli was listening. The dwarf was still talking to his brother, but it seemed his attention was piqued about what was happening behind him. Despite caring for both of them, it was clear he would be nothing but fiercely protective of Bofur, no matter who it was he was speaking to.

“Bofur, I…” Bilbo started, but he paused and had to rethink his words.

No. He wasn’t going to do that.

“You and Kíli?” is what he settled on, and he wondered if he would regret it later. Would he regret it more than what he wanted to ask?

The question changed something because Bofur smiled, though it was a different smile than the one he’d had before. It was softer, like there was a twinge of something else to it. Memory? Nostalgia? Bilbo couldn’t put his finger on it but there was something different about it, that much was certain. “He’s a good lad,” Bofur replied.

“Did you know?” Bilbo asked, hardly giving the response time to settle, though as soon as he realised he was prying he bit his lower lip.

Bofur looked at him curiously as if he wasn’t entirely certain what Bilbo was asking, but he wasn’t one to leave a question unanswered. “If you’re askin’ did I know abou’ th’ lad’s feelings, no' at firs',” he admitted. “Bu’…he’s a good lad,” he said again. “In more ways than I though’.”

“Do you love him?”

That was one of those questions that Bilbo immediately regretted. It didn’t need to have days, weeks, months to percolate before he could look back on it and think, _yes, Bilbo old boy, you really did it wrong that time._ No, this time he knew immediately. Because Bofur’s expression melted, and suddenly it was like they were in the cave again, the time Bilbo told him they didn’t belong anywhere. It was pain. There was hurt too. Offense, even, that Bilbo would have the audacity to ask him.

Or maybe it was pain because of what he felt for the hobbit. That was what Bilbo chose to think, because it made him feel less of the fool.

For better or worse, Bofur didn’t dignify him with an answer. He gave the hobbit the same smile he had in the cave – a small, forced, hurt smile, and moved ahead to put distance between himself and the hobbit. As if on cue, Kíli pried himself from whatever his brother had been talking to him about and fell into step with Bofur.

And Bilbo wondered in that moment if he would ever really know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter did not go the way i wanted it to at all, mostly because bilbo had plans of his own. and sad bofur makes me sad.
> 
> so the solution for the smut! it will NOT be included in this fic. instead, i will post the url for it in the chapter notes that would naturally precede it. that way those of you that want to know my headcanon as it goes, you can just read it there. and those who don't want smut don't have to have smut. but for those who want it, there will be a link for smut. and it will be kili/bofur smut. because lets be real, this ship is small but i'm gunna sail it anyway!
> 
> r&r and any questions are welcome, as always. and shout out to ManhattanMom who has consistently commented on every chapter (some of them twice) since she started reading. your comments literally make me excited to post updates, okay? XD


	14. Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bilbo makes it into erebor, and smaug is awakened. regular readers SEE NOTE AT THE END

“Looks like you’ve got a lot on your mind, master Baggins.”

It was dark inside the tunnel, and as Bilbo followed it staggeringly, he felt some comfort in the company of Balin, who had been drafted to follow him as he attempted to do what he had been brought into the company for in the first place – burglary.

“I do?” Bilbo responded vaguely, losing his footing on some rocks and having to grasp the tunnel wall for support. Balin was close behind him to catch his other hand, and the dwarf helped the hobbit to straighten out before they continued along the path. “Yes, you’re right, I suppose I do. Though I can’t imagine that I’m the only one.”

“No, your right there, laddy,” Balin confirmed with a knowing tone, and he gave the hobbit a tap on the back as they began walking once again down the tunnel. “Still, you might do better if you let it out of your mouth than into your feet.”

The statement struck Bilbo as funny and he chuckled a bit to himself. “Yes, you’re right about that too.” He paused in his walking to glance sidelong at Balin. He could just make out the dwarf’s silhouette in the half-light of the tunnel. “Though…I don’t really know what I might say.”

“Start at the beginning,” Balin advised gently. Though Bilbo couldn’t see his face, he could hear the smile in his tone, and his own smile matched it. “I’ve always found that was the best way to start.”

“I don’t even know if it has a beginning, to be honest,” the hobbit answered, and though his smile was true, his heart wasn’t really in it. “I’m not even certain I know exactly what it is that’s on my mind. I mean…supposing you found out that…maybe there were feelings someone had for you that you didn’t know about until…well, fairly recently.”

Bilbo couldn’t see the dwarf, but there was a knowing expression in his eyes.

“And I can’t say that I wasn’t…flattered. But at first I didn’t think anything of it. And now, seemingly out of the blue, I finally think ‘oh, right. Great. That might actually work, Bilbo,’ only to realize that…I’m too late.” He shuffled his feet a bit, and his tone dropped. “I waited too long.”

The hobbit might have been rambling, and had he been talking to anyone else, his council might have had no idea how to follow what he was saying, but Balin knew exactly to what he was referring to. Right down to the hidden details that Bilbo himself did not know. It was the unfortunate consequence of being so endeared and so entrusted by the others that Balin was able to piece together the puzzle of a story to make something cohesive. He more than any other knew the inner workings of the company and the members within it.

When Bilbo’s voice trailed off, the aged dwarf gave his words a few moments to settle as they continued down the corridor. The silence lasted a few more steps before Balin asked quietly, “And what is it that y’ want, laddy?”

The sigh that met his ears was the mightiest he’d heard in quite some time. “I don’t know. Honestly.” And he meant it, though admitting his inability to know what not something the hobbit felt entirely comfortable with. After all, there were so many other things that he didn’t know that never crossed his mind. Like what he might see when he got to the other end of this tunnel. And whether he would make it back unsinged. But those were life and death. This was the lesser of two overwhelming thoughts, so he chose to focus on this one. “I thought perhaps that maybe, after what happened before we made it to Mirkwood, things would be different. But they’re not. I don’t think they ever will be.” He was speaking now about Thorin, and though he thought he was doing his best to be discrete, he couldn’t know that Balin was already aware of his affections for the king under the mountain.

“Can I tell you something?” Balin responded in a kindly voice, and Bilbo could hardly refuse. 

“Of course.”

The dwarf rest a hand on the hobbit’s shoulder in the same fatherly manner that he had when talking to Bofur about his trifles. “Sometimes…it’s good enough, just knowing that the one you care for the most is still out there breathing. As long as they draw breath and find their happiness, you can find your peace.”

It didn’t sound too promising to Bilbo in that moment, but he ventured that Balin had a point. And Balin had to be speaking with some level of experience. That much Bilbo knew for certain.

“Now…I should probably leave y’ here, lad,” Balin continued after a moment. The light of the entrance was so small that had they gone much further it would be lost completely to them, and someone needed to sound the alarm if anything should happen to the hobbit while in the dragon’s keep.

“I understand,” Bilbo replied, and though his voice was disheartened, he felt a small part of him – his Tookishness, perhaps – steeling him up for the task ahead. Telling him he could do what needed to be done. That he’d made it this far and that now he could truly prove himself to the rest. Clapping Balin on the shoulder, he offered the dwarf an unseen smile in the darkness. “Thank you, Balin.”

“Take care of yourself,” the dwarf replied, and he settled himself against the wall, silent and patiently waiting.

~*~

The rest of the company might have been waiting outside for Bilbo to return, but Bofur was further down with his brother, helping him to watch the ponies. Bombur was too heavy to make it up to the ledge by the door to the secret entrance, and so he was given the task of caring for the ponies. Being the elder, Bofur felt it was his duty to stay with his brother to make sure he was alright and didn’t get into trouble. That way they could take turns, one resting, the other watching. Though Bofur partly chose the task to allow himself quiet and space to think.

Several times Kíli was lowered down to give them news of what was going on above; he claimed it was because he was one of the youngest and fittest to climb up and down, but pretty much the whole company knew that wasn’t the reason he went down to them.

Bofur always looked forward to these visits, mostly because Kíli was so excited to see him and refreshingly bold because there were less curious eyes to study them. Bombur hardly noticed the pair of them when Kíli came – in fact, half the time he was sleeping, which gave them little moments alone to talk, smoke, and simply be together. Yet Kíli’s youthful affection kept the elder going when he was busy thinking about all the things that had happened to them on their journey. Of Bilbo, somewhere inside the mountain, burgling under the eye of the fire drake. Of Thorin, likely questioning his nephew each time he descended the rope, and impatiently waiting for the hobbit to return from his own peril. And of Kíli, who seemed so wonderfully unaffected by all the things that were happening around them. It was like he’d never left the Blue Mountains in some ways. The dangers of a dragon didn’t faze him. The malcontent of his uncle didn’t seem to bother him either. And the ongoing complexities of relationships seemed at the back of his mind, if he thought on them at all. Bofur was surprised to find he liked that about the younger dwarf. It settled his own mind.

As Kíli descended to the pair, he landed gracefully on his feet and immediately scanned to see where Bombur was.

The rotund dwarf was leaning against the mountain wall, dreaming contentedly.

When he was certain there was no one to bother them, he crept over to the miner, who was smoking his pipe, and slid down next to him, giving his moustache a playful tug as he kissed the other’s cheek. The elder laughed, puffs of smoke slipping out the corners of his mouth. He tousled the younger’s hair before slipping an arm around him.

“You’re gettin’ cheeky there, lad,” he spoke through his laughter, which the youth took as a challenge, because he smirked, looked around to make sure that Bombur hadn’t stirred, before hopping up and moving so he was directly in front of the other, squatting down on his haunches with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Tha’s no’ cheeky,” he answered through his smile, and he pulled the pipe out of the other’s mouth before leaning into to kiss him once firmly on the mouth. The elder met the kiss with a chuckle, but when Kíli pulled back he shifted so he was sitting on his knees and pushed himself as close as he could to the other dwarf, so their knees were touching and their faces still close. “Bu’ I c’n be cheeky if y’ want.”

Bofur took his pipe back from the youth, shaking his head with a laugh. “An’ whose going t’ watch the ponies?”

“Bombur.”

“He’s asleep, lad,” Bofur replied, taking a few puffs from his pipe before offering it to the other, who took it gladly, inhaling a few puffs of smoke himself. “C’mere,” he added, trying to coax the other to take a seat next to him, but Kíli refused, instead leaning in so that the little wisps of smoke that escaped from his mouth might occupy the space between them.

“Bilbo’s gone in again,” Kíli informed in a conspiratorial manner. “Went back in jus’ an hour ago. Y’ should see Uncle Thorin,” he added, and there was just a hint of amusement to his voice, as if something had happened that Bofur missed.

“Oh aye?”

“Las’ time he came back with a gold cup,” Kíli continued proudly. “Think Uncle Thorin’s finally seein’ him.”

The last statement softened the smile on the miner’s face, a subtler smile that was simultaneously relieved and thoughtful. “Does he now?” And he rest his hands on his lap.

“Wha’?”

Looking up to meet the dark eyes of the youth, Bofur was surprised when he saw the earlier flirtatiousness seemed to have melted away. It was such a sudden shift that his own smile melted when he saw it and he reached over to place a hand on the youth’s shoulder. “Y’ alrigh’?”

“Yeah I’m fine,” Kíli answered quickly, and he finally did as he had been indicated to earlier and sat back beside the aging miner, his body pressing into the other’s side. He continued to smoke the pipe, though he let his free hand reach over to rest gently on the other’s thigh. Though he didn’t say it outwardly, Kíli always felt that talk of Bilbo was suspect, especially when it came to Bofur. He didn’t want to think that Bofur still harboured feelings for the hobbit. After all, Bofur had been nothing if not affectionate since he’d made his decision along the road. Kíli didn’t doubt for a second that Bofur was invested, but there was always that little licking flame of jealousy that liked to flare up in his chest at moments like these. To push the thoughts out of his mind, he rest his head on the elder’s shoulder and sighed. “Men lananubukhs menu,” he spoke softly, and the moment the words fell from his lips he felt the elder tighten his arm around his shoulders. Bofur said nothing, but kissed the top of the youth’s head before resting his cheek upon it.

The pair stayed like that for a while until a strange calm came to the mountainside. Very suddenly, as if the world had stopped, the birds were no longer singing. A chill settled on the air that seemed to have no source, and the wind moaned and whistled through the pines. Bofur noticed it first, for Kíli had quite comfortably drifted off himself as he pressed into the other, but it was Fíli’s descent that let the older dwarf know something was amiss.

“Khâzash,” the blond prince called before his feet had touched the stone of the ledge. Kíli awoke with a start to his brother’s voice and hopped to his feet in surprise.

“What is it?”

“C’mon,” Fíli insisted, reaching for his brother and pulling him back to the rope. “Smaug saw Bilbo. He’s comin’.”

“But wha’ about them?” Kíli answered defiantly, resisting his brother’s grasp. He put up a remarkable struggle against his brother, who normally could coax him to do anything, and so Bofur stepped up and pushed Kíli in the direction of his brother.

“Go on lad, we’ll be righ’ behind you.”

Kíli didn’t seem convinced, but his brother was strong and forceful, and once he had hold of both the rope and his brother’s waist, the others above hauled them both up. Unseen above their encampment with the ponies, the two young princes were forced into the tunnel for their own protect (and in Kíli’s case, quite against his will) along with Balin and Bilbo, while they others remained to help the two below reach safety. In that time, Bofur went to rouse his brother, who had managed to remain sleeping through it all, and when he finally pried his heavy lids apart, the wail of the dragon could be heard on the wind – distant but menacing. More rope was lowered for the pair of them, though Bofur had to go up first because they needed enough strength to haul Bombur up alone, and the harder they fought to get the final dwarf onto the ledge, the closer the shrieks on the night air were becoming. They had hardly rolled him over the edge onto solid ground when Bilbo began to holler from the mouth of the tunnel, begging them to hurry in and shut the door.

The company just made it inside and shut the door when a great force collided with the side of the mountain, and rocks began to cascade down upon them, showering them in debris. Bofur and Bombur, who were at the end of the caravan, got the brunt of the cascade, but both were dug out of the pile relatively unharmed. And as soon as the miner surfaced, Kíli’s frantic hands pulled him out of the debris and clung to him desperately. In the darkness of the tunnel his affection was unseen by the watchful eyes of his uncle, but there was something about the way the youth clung to him in that moment that caused a new feeling to seat itself in the middle of the toymaker’s chest, and as he wrapped his arms comfortingly around him, he knew in that moment that he was home. Suddenly he knew that in Kíli’s arms, he would always be home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was listening to christina perri when i wrote part of this chapter. can you tell?
> 
> so i lied. it will be another chapter before i add smut. i had a little bit more happen in this chapter than i thought at first (isn't that always the case with me, hahaha) so i need to write a bit more in the next chapter before i can get to smut of the kifur kind.
> 
> anyway, i conflated two scenes in the book because i figured i don't write that much action because it makes me feel like an inadequate writer so i wanted to write a bit of action. hence, we have smaug reeking havok suddenly. and i thought about a kifur moment in the tunnel but that would just be awkward because lets be real, we all know thorin would troll that shit.
> 
> anyway. r&r please and thank you and also: http://indiasierrabravo.tumblr.com/image/45876265549 you must see this lovely piece drawn by the great indiasierrabravo on tumblr. :3 she's been getting more into kili/bofur through this fic! which makes me really happy. and even happier when she draws lovely things like that beauty.


	15. The Ballad of You and Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> after the cave in, bofur, kili, thorin and bilbo each have a revelation, and there is collective relief as they enter the mountain. IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE AT THE BOTTOM ABOUT THE FOLLOWING CHAPTER

The cave-in seemed to change the attitudes of all the dwarves, and for a long while they simply sat in the darkness, no words being spoken among them. Kíli wouldn’t let Bofur go and the miner wouldn’t have pushed him away even if he’d wanted him to release him. He was fine. Both of them were. But it was strange how in that moment of peril something had changed in both of them. He’d been thankful that Kíli was thrust into the tunnel right away to protect him from danger, and Kíli had been so relieved to pull the other from the rubble unscathed that he couldn’t bear to separate from him afterwards.

There was privacy to be had in the darkness and their mutual relief at the well-being of the other was expressed in secret kisses that none of the others could have seen. Perhaps they might have heard, had they listened well enough, but the whole of the company was too preoccupied with recovering from the scare to notice.

Something else had happened too. The scare with the dragon had illumined to several individuals the reality that had previously remained unseen. For Bofur, it was that he did love Kíli. For Kíli, that the thought of the loss of the toymaker terrified him. And for Bilbo, that he was important to Thorin after all. As soon as danger was on the horizon, the dwarf king had directed him back into the tunnel with Balin and his two nephews. He, the hobbit, had been sent for safety with the heirs of the king. Further, when the group had finally made their way into the tunnel and the collapse took place, Thorin had been right behind him, and had actively used his body to shield the hobbit, though they were not quite close enough to the entrance to experience too much danger.

Now as they sat side-by-side on the tunnel floor, listening to the breathing and other sounds of their companions, the hobbit felt the king take his hand into his own again. Just like in the dungeons of the goblin king. Hidden in darkness, but a clear sign that he cared.

Bilbo gave the hand a squeeze in spite of himself.

The group remained in the tunnel like that for what could have been hours or even a day; as with the dungeons it was difficult to keep track of time in that place, but it seemed the safety of being outside of the dragon’s reach was the most important thing. They ate very little; they slept even less. It was finally Bilbo who got them moving again, finding what little piece of Tookishness there was still inside him to push them all forward.

“Well we can’t stay in here forever; let’s go.”

A groan of disapproval rose from the many dwarves in the darkness, some paralysed by the fear of finding Smaug at the other end of the tunnel, but Bilbo felt somehow that they would make it through without incident. After a moment he added, “C’mon, three’s a charm. I’ve already been inside twice now. This time I’m certain.”

Again the dwarves protested, but much to Bilbo’s surprise, it was Thorin who rose to his defence.

“We move on,” he announced with the authority and command of his rank, and the din of the tunnel faded into silence. “Mr. Baggins has already encountered the dragon twice. I trust his judgment.”

There would be no argument with that logic, and Bilbo felt movement beside him before the same hand that gripped his own helped him rise to his feet. If they’d had light in that moment, all would have seen the colour of his face, but he was protected in that moment from the darkness. With one hand in Thorin’s and the other running along the wall of the tunnel so that he would not lose his footing, the hobbit lead the way. Though, as he considered the strong hand that held so firmly to his own, he knew that he wouldn’t stumble at all. Thorin would keep him steady, and that thought again made him darken against his will.

Bofur and Kíli took up the back of the caravan, though they could hardly see as much in the darkness of the tunnel; there were no sounds behind them. The younger kept his arm around Bofur’s waist as they walked, and though Bofur continued to assure him that he was alright, the youth wouldn’t believe it until they were able to have some light that he could examine him properly.

“I’m alrigh’, lad.”

“You’d say tha’ even if y’ weren’t.”

“But I am, love. I’m alrigh’.”

It was strange when they finally reached the end of the tunnel just how cold it was. Bilbo went in first and called out several times, rather boldly to the thinking of his companions, but there was no sound in response. No fire, no rush of wind, no instant death. Only his voice echoing off the walls of stone.

Smaug had not returned. Where the fire-drake had gone, none could say, but one thing was for certain – they were safely inside the Lonely Mountain. Erebor. Their home.

It took some time, but Oin and Gloin were able to light some torches, and one by one they were passed around to the members of the company, the building light filling the ancient halls of stone, reflecting off the vaulted ceilings, the waves of gold and precious gems, the wealth of their people. The vision seemed to melt away their fears little by little, for there was no heat of the dragon, no fear for the loss of life in that moment, and as they stepped out to explore, the collective attitude of the whole company rose through the ceilings and to the very mountain’s peak.

When there was enough light, Kíli took a moment to inspect the older dwarf whom he held so tightly to ensure that he was unharmed, and when he was certain Bofur was indeed fit as he claimed, he let his hand slip down into the others, lacing their fingers together as he pulled him along behind him into the great treasure. It was fascinating to see. He’d heard tell of the splendour of their people’s wealth, but as he had been too young to know this place that had once been their home, it was all new to him.

“Khâzash!” Fíli called to the younger, and when the archer turned to his brother, the blonde prince tossed him a harp – one of several that emerged from the piles of gold and gemstones. Catching it with expert fingers, the younger let a smile cross his face as he finally released Bofur’s hand, and gave the instrument a gentle stroke.

Still perfectly in tune, the notes that emerged from the small instrument were as bright and as beautiful as any he had heard. The two brothers began to play, and it didn’t take long for Bofur to join in on his flute. Soon the whole company was immersed in song, and Bilbo sat among them, not raising his voice nor joining in the dance, but enjoying their company and their good humour, a glittering secret weighing down his pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter that would naturally follow this (and which contains the smut) is called "your touch" and i am posting it as i type this out. you can post this link into the searchbar: http://archiveofourown.org/works/734332 or you can just go to my author page and click on it. those of you who just want to avoid it don't have to see it then. i apologize for how short this particular chapter is. i made up for it in chapter 15.5, believe me.
> 
> i did my best to follow the book at this point. those of you who haven't read the book will just have to wonder what's going on with bilbo. ;)
> 
> r&r and love and cookies!


	16. Soul Meets Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kili and bofur have a conversation post-coupling and have a rather awkward surprise.

“Âzyungâl?”

“Yeah, lad??”

“Men lananubukhs menu.”

“Men lananubukhs menu, Kíli.”

“I jus’ want t’ stay like this forever.”

“I know lad.”

The pair lay comfortably on the bed, still wrapped in the bedding with their body’s pressed together. Kíli had spent the past few hours (maybe they were hours; it could have been a second or a lifetime, the way time seemed to pass for them then) unbraiding and playing with the other’s hair, while Bofur kept his arm around the youth and let his fingertips rub up and down his body gently. They’d spent much of that time in silence, simply relishing in the reality of being together in this place, and loving one another. Loving didn’t require any words. It just meant simply being.

And they were doing fine at that.

“Y’ think the others are looking for us?”

The elder chuckled lightly and gave the youth a squeeze. “If they are, we’re in trouble, you an’ I.”

Kíli shifted a few times before he finally forced himself into a sitting position, sighing as if from his very depths. The sound filled the room, though in much a different way than the sounds they’d been making earlier had.

“Wha’ is it, love?”

Kíli said nothing at first, so Bofur forced himself into a sitting position and shifted so he could get a better look at the youth’s face. His expression was difficult to read; there were layers to it – pain, frustration, maybe a bit of anger, though they all came together in his furrowed brow.

“Kíli?”

“It’s uncle Thorin,” he replied finally, though his voice was barely above a whisper.

“Wha’ about ‘im?” Bofur pressed, despite the fact that he had an inkling of what the other would say.

The question caused Kíli to pause, and he turned to look at Bofur seriously, his dark eyes flicking over every bit of the other’s face. Like he was taking in every detail so that he might never forget what the other looked like. Like he was afraid if he looked away, the memory of him might vanish completely.

“I’m tired of fightin’ with him,” Kíli said finally. “I’m no’ my brother. I’m no’ going t’ follow him someday. It shouldn’t matter. I love you. An’ that’s no’ going t’ change.” And as he spoke the last bit, he reached a hand to cup the other’s cheek tenderly.

“No one’s askin’ you t’ change, lad,” Bofur replied gently, and he leaned forward to press their foreheads together. Kíli’s eyes slipped closed when their foreheads connected and he sighed once more, deeply, taking in every bit of air between them, inhaling their very essence into himself.

“I love you,” Kíli said again, as if the more he said it, the more he realized just how much he meant it.

“I know, laddy love,” Bofur replied.

They settled into the silence again for a while and Kíli lazily wrapped his arms around the other’s torso, letting his head rest on Bofur’s shoulder. When he seemed to have moved beyond the fears of what his uncle might say, it was Bofur who broke the silence this time.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Kíli shifted so he was looking at the other’s face and he nodded, though tentatively. Bofur noticed the apprehension in his face and he smiled softly to comfort him.

“Don’ worry, I jus’ wanted t’ ask you how long,” he assured the other, giving him a little nudge.

“How long?” Kíli echoed, not following.

“When I las’ asked you, y’ said since before we left.”

“Oh,” Kíli answered, and his eyes darted down to his lap. Though his arms were still wrapped around the other, he started to fidget idly with his hands, twiddling his thumbs. “You’re…no’ gunna believe me.”

“Why don’ y’ let me decide?” Bofur spoke gently, and he kept his eyes on the top of the other’s head until Kíli finally glanced up to meet his gaze. “Besides, I can tell when you’re lying. Y’ve never been very good at it, lad.”

Kíli laughed lightly in response to that. “Tha’s wha’ Fíli always says. Never could fool him either.”

“So tell me.”

The younger took a deep breath before he spoke again, his eyes venturing back down to his lap. “Y’ remember when Fí an’ I were dwarflings…and y’ used t’ watch us sometimes.”

“As long as tha’?” Bofur answered with surprise, and Kíli laughed again, this time with a bit more force behind it.

“Well, no’ quite,” he breathed in good humour. He let his hands drop from around the other’s chest and shifted again so his back was leaning up against the headboard of the bed, but he let one hand rest on Bofur’s thigh. “But when we started getting’ older, and uncle Thorin would take Fíli aside. Preparing him.”

The smile that crossed Bofur’s face was both joyful and nostalgic. “I remember. An’ y’ used t’ come see me, when I wasn’t in th’ mines. Help me with m’ toys.”

“All the time,” Kíli replied brightly. “Fíli knew before I did. When I finally told him, he jus’ laughed at me.”

“An’ you ‘n’ your brother kept it a secret for tha’ long?” Bofur couldn’t help but be impressed. He recalled times when they were young when one would tell him something that he was sworn never to reveal to the other, only to turn around and blurt out the childish secret in excitement.

“Though’ it migh’ go away,” Kíli admitted with some reservation, shifting again and his voice dropping low, like he was ashamed to admit it.

“Did y’ want it to?”

Kíli shook his head. “No but…dwarves don’ really…fall in love like tha’.”

Bofur’s smile never left him. “Sometimes they do.”

The words soothed the younger’s troubled heart, and he glanced back at his lover’s face with so much emotion that Bofur believed he could feel it leaving the other’s body and passing into his own.

“An’ you finally did, too.”

Bofur pulled the younger into his chest and kissed the top of his head. “I jus’ never though’ you were an option, laddy love,” he explained in a calm voice. “You’re a prince. I’m jus’ a poor miner.”

“An’ the best toymaker in th’ Blue Mountains,” Kíli added without giving him a chance to retort. He let his hand wander up to the other’s cheek, and coaxed his eyes to meet his own gaze. “An’ I don’ wan’ t’ hear anything like tha’ now. I’m jus’ Kíli. An’ you’re th’ one I want.”

Neither of them were prepared when the bedroom door creaked slightly. Both sets of eyes turned to the doorframe, surprised to see Bilbo standing there, his face red and his eyes downcast.

“I…had a feeling I might find you in here,” the hobbit spoke in a voice that was heavily laced with embarrassment. Both pairs of eyes stared at him and he shifted his weight a few times, uncertain what to say. “I just…I saw the…” He gestured to the torch. “…the light under the door. And…”

Bofur leaned in to Kíli. “I think we need to get dressed.”

“I’ll just be outside,” Bilbo added quickly as the words hit his ears and he turned to make his way out.

“Did uncle Thorin send you?” Kíli called after him, throwing back the bedding unashamedly and crossing to the hobbit. Bilbo paused with his back to them and sighed.

“He…might’ve mentioned…something,” Bilbo gestured around him as if indicating the whole room. “Something like this.”

Bofur followed Kíli’s lead and they began gathering up their clothes from the floor. “We weren’t gone for tha’ long,” Kíli grumbled under his breath, as he went to sit on the bed and started pulling his undergarments back on. Bofur didn’t bother to sit but pulled them on where he was standing, neither looking at the hobbit nor his lover.

“Well you were gone long enough to attract his attention apparently,” Bilbo rattled off in response. He hadn’t left as he originally said he would but kept his back turned to them.

“I don’ want t’ fight with him.”

“Kíli, don’ worry about it, love.”

“He can’ stop me.”

“Lad, it’s alrigh’.”

“And this isn’t th’ last time. I’ll tell him so myself.”

“Kíli…love…”

The words passed between them seemed to echo in the hobbit’s ears as he tried to ignore the sounds of rustling fabric and the image he’d come upon when he’d entered the room. It seemed like there was so much that he had missed. His mind couldn’t catch up to what was happening in the room behind him, so when a heavy dwarvish hand clasped his shoulder he nearly jumped out of his own skin.

“Y’ alrigh’ there?” It was Bofur’s voice, and Bofur’s hand. He let it drop without incident.

“I won’t tell him anything,” Bilbo said quickly, trying to recover from his near heart-attack, and he finally felt comfortable enough to turn around to face the pair of them. They were clothed now, though Bofur’s hair remained undone. “If you follow me, I’ll take you outside. You can tell him you were getting fresh air.”

“I’m no’ going t’ lie t’ him,” Kíli, ever contentious, growled under his breath.

“Kíli, âzyungâl, âtamânel, please.”

“I don’t want this t’ be over,” the other finally forced out, and he laced his fingers with Bofur’s as they followed Bilbo out of their secret place, Bofur now wielding the torch they have brought with them. For the first time in a while, Kíli’s youth showed completely through. His emotions were bleeding through the surface. Like he was a little dwarfling again. Like he wouldn’t be alright until he was held and comforted. “I don’t want this t’ end.”

“It’s not, laddy love,” Bofur answered with a squeeze. “It can’. I’ll hold y’ again. Soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think i may write another smut chapter as an aside because i really can't just leave them like this and then...you know. plus look at poor kili! he needs to be held, poor dear.
> 
> god damned bilbo clearly had his own ideas about the way this chapter was going to go because i certainly didn't invite him. but methinks he's beginning to wonder just how much he's missing out on, having never caught on to bofur before it was too late.
> 
> and it seems kili is actually afraid that his uncle might do something to prevent him from keeping his happiness. i wonder why?
> 
> anyway, r&r. and feels. (and if you missed the chapter that goes between this one and 15, its a different work called "your touch" so i didn't have to change the rating on this one).


	17. I'm Not Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which bilbo has a bit of emotional whiplash, and so do we.

No words were spoken as the trio walked purposefully through the halls, under the vaulted ceilings, their footsteps echoing infinitely. Bilbo seemed to have recovered a bit from his embarrassment, though internally he was still seeing the image of the two of them so exposed. Bofur and Kíli followed him at a small distance, hands clasped together tightly, though it seemed Kíli was far more in need of that lifeline than Bofur was. While the younger seemed to pull tighter and tighter into himself, the elder ever stayed strong and supportive, his eyes straying to glance sidelong as if to say, I’m not leaving you, no matter what.

It seemed to help, though only slightly.

It was when they finally made their way outside that some of Kíli’s tension melted away. The wind was strong up on the parapets, and it pushed them to and fro, whipping their hair around their faces. Bilbo made a little skipping jog to get a few more paces ahead of them, as if he had something planned or wanted it to appear as if they hadn’t come back as a trio. Whatever the case, the two dwarves allowed him his distance and, as if to compensate, slowed their pace.

“Kíli,” Bofur spoke once he was certain Bilbo had ventured far enough away from them to not overhear them. They paused and Kíli met his gaze tentatively. “If…somethin’ should happen, I won’ leave y’. Alrigh’?”

The younger nodded but said nothing.

“An’ if there’s someone t’ blame – ”

“No,” Kíli interrupted and he shook his head firmly. “No.” He didn’t let the other speak further, instead walking ahead and dragging the other along behind him.

They were surprised to find most of the company gathered when they followed the path Bilbo had so hastily blazed before them. Most attentions were settled on the distant skyline, where a flock of birds seemed to be circling.

Something about it gave both dwarves a bad feeling.

Thorin was standing closest to the edge, his eyes scanning the horizon as Bilbo spoke to him hurriedly in a voice that was far too amiable. When the pair was close enough to actually hear him, they caught the tail end of, “– so you see they were simply lost, as I said before I left.”

Turning to lock his eyes on the pair of them, Bofur felt Kíli stiffen under the gaze beside him, and he gave the lad’s hand a reassuring squeeze. Two sets of brown eyes were studied painstakingly by those brilliant, penetrating blue ones, before Thorin finally let his gaze venture back out to the horizon. “It seems they found each other easily enough,” he replied with an edge of disapproval in his voice, though he spoke softly, so that only his nephew, the toymaker, and the hobbit might be able to hear it.

Kíli glowered and made to approach his uncle, but Bofur held him back. Still not one to be restrained, he let his tongue come out as the next best thing. “An’ what of it?”

“Lad,” Bofur warned gently, but the petition seemed to fall on deaf ears.

Thorin met his nephew’s gaze; it was like looking in a mirror. Where Fíli had taken after his father and seemed much more skilled at pacifying, Kíli had more of the Durin temper in him. He had the same dark, cold stare, the same deeply furrowed brow, and the same steady posture. Thorin saw himself in the younger dwarf. Perhaps a bit too much of himself.

“I assume neither of you found what you were looking for,” he spoke, turning his attention now to the missing Arkenstone, not in response to Kíli’s low growl but rather as if the youth’s words warranted no recognition.

“Oh no,” Kíli responded tersely. “I found wha’ I was looking for.”

“Kíli,” Bofur pleaded, giving his arm another tug in the hopes to dissuade him.

Bilbo seemed to have clicked in to the mounting tension too, because he suddenly started trying to form words to attract the king’s attention. “Um…Thorin…have you uh…made any mention of…the…”

“I don’t want to fight with you, nephew,” Thorin said finally, and it seemed that he visibly deflated. “Not now.”

At first Kíli didn’t seem like he believed his uncle, keeping his eyes locked on his face with a shrewd, calculating expression. But when several moments had passed and it was clear Thorin had nothing else to say, his own body seemed to relax visibly.

“This is what I want,” Kíli said finally, and though his tone had evened out and was no longer on the attack, there was still that strength in his voice that commanded attention. Much in the same way Thorin did when he felt the need to pull his company back together. As Thorin watched the youth, he continued to feel as if he saw a younger version of himself.

Perhaps even a stronger one, as he noticed the way the two dwarves continued to grasp each other’s hands tightly. Desperately, even.

“If it’s what you want,” Thorin responded, then he sighed and glanced back out towards the horizon. “Then who am I to stop you.”

Kíli seemed blindsided by the words. He simply stood there staring at his uncle as if the whole thing was some kind of a joke, but when Bofur gave his hand another little tug, he finally recovered himself and whatever tension had been visible in his frame melted away completely. It was replaced by a relieved smile. “It’s alrigh’?”

The word didn’t really fit, but it wasn’t incorrect either, so Thorin gave his nephew a brief head nod before turning his attention outward again.

Kíli was beside himself. The smile that crossed his face was the same goofy smile he wore when he first stepped through the hobbit’s door, back when all of this started, and he threw his arms around his unsuspecting uncle in a vote of thanks. Thorin staggered when his nephew collided with him, but was able to return the embrace briefly with a small smile.

When Kíli pulled back, he gave his uncle a head nod as if some mutual understanding passed between them, before he practically tackled Bofur. Though he didn’t feel too keen on hiding, there was absolutely no reason to hide his affections now and he was going to make a show of how much he loved the other. Bofur had to brace himself to keep his balance, laughing.

“Thorin?”

The king turned to meet the curious gaze of the hobbit, whose eyes had never left him during the exchange. There was relief on his face, though a layer of confusion.

“Yes, Master Baggins?”

“What changed your mind?” he pressed. Those searching blue eyes never left him. “Because when I left…you were not so keen on…all of this.”

Thorin met his gaze before glancing back at his nephew and the miner. Kíli seemed to have calmed down a little bit, but he was still clinging to the elder’s hand as Bofur pulled him along in the direction of Ori. The scribe was sitting quietly apart from the others, writing when they came upon him, and as his eyes glanced up to the pair, Bofur handed him something. A roll of parchment perhaps. It was difficult to tell at the distance. Then Kíli pulled Bofur back into his arms and buried his face into the other’s chest with such happiness as Thorin hadn’t seen in his nephews eyes in what seemed like a long time. It made his heart lighter.

Turning back to the hobbit, he raised his eyebrows, showing just a hint of that humour he shared when the burdens of his position were not so much for him. It was rare, but it never entirely left him. “And what makes you certain that the happiness of my kin is not enough to sway me?”

Bilbo gave him a patronizing smirk. “Because it didn’t seem to make any difference before. I seem to recall a certain conversation…between the two of us…”

Thorin chuffed, his smile small but evident, and his eyes then ventured behind Bilbo. The hobbit turned and saw Balin and Dwalin standing side by side on the battlements, their eyes looking curiously in the distance. It was Balin who turned, however, and met the dual sets of eyes upon him. Giving both his kind smile, he nodded in acknowledgement.

“Of course,” Bilbo responded when he turned his attention back to Thorin. “I don’t suppose…he said anything else…”

The question struck the dwarf as odd and his eyebrows dropped as he studied him. When he said nothing in response, Bilbo shifted and went to make his way towards the others.

“Nevermind.”

“Wait.”

The petition was strong and caught more than just the hobbit’s attention. He paused and turned to glance over his shoulder, and when he met Thorin’s gaze, he was surprised to find that it was filled with layers of compassion that he hadn’t seen in a long time. Or what seemed like a long time. Had it really been so very long? After all, he had only known these dwarves for a comparatively short portion of his life. And yet it seemed to him the most important, and the most memorable of that had come before. And that look on Thorin’s face was much the same as the one he’d seen when the dwarf embraced him on the eyrie.

Thorin did not speak again, but motioned for the hobbit to come closer. Bilbo did so without hesitation.

“There is much I would speak to you, if you would hear it,” Thorin implored. His voice was low and cautious, but there was a layer of urgency that could not be denied. “It is not something to be discussed openly. Not now.”

The hobbit felt like the other had just thrown his stomach from the battlements, the way it seemed to drop out at those words.

“Oh…all…alright.” He cleared his throat and shifted his weight before meeting those penetrating eyes again. “When?”

Uncertainty. Confusion. A lingering question played on that face and it made Bilbo nervous. He shifted again.

Finally, “Soon. But first…there is a coming storm that much be addressed.”

“Yes, yes of course,” Bilbo replied quickly, nervously, and he took a step back. “Just…let me know…when it is convenient…for you.”

And the hobbit was left wondering just what he had in store for himself. A heart of gold outweighing a heart for gold, perhaps?

He shook his head. No. Perhaps not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know what happened in this chapter. it took me like...4 days to write and i don't think i like it. and yes. a wild thilbo appears. but poor bilbo can just never catch a break.
> 
> also kili is such a teenager in his personality dear mahal. which was intentional of course but the whole "well we can be official now so i want to make out with you in public" was just a bit much for me. XD i want to tell him to cool it. but he'll chill once he starts feeling the after-effects of his love session.
> 
> i should be sorry but i'm not.
> 
> considered writing an off-story about what balin said to thorin but feeling lazy and also really annoyed at about half the people i have to deal with on a regular basis at school. just give me my master's degree so i can go home.
> 
> r&r and sunshine!


	18. Reason Why

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> two flashbacks and one conversation that takes an interesting turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy birthday manhattan mom! i hope this is a sufficient birthday present for you. i may be able to throw together one more chapter since i don't celebrate easter in any way other than eating.

_“I swear I will put a stop to this foolishness.”_

_“Let it be, Thorin.”_

_“Do you have any idea how many times I have had this conversation with my nephew?”_

_The future king growled under his breath and kicked a stone that had been dislodged from the battlements. All eyes were locked on him cautiously, though the company of dwarves kept their distance. Bilbo had left to find the two missing dwarves shortly after Fíli had gone to do the same, and the rest were left to watch their lord and king slowly melting down. The brewing storm on the horizon and his own malcontent at the workings of his own house were getting the best of him._

_And the Arkenstone still had not been found. That weighed upon him most of all._

_“Thorin. Look at yourself.”_

_Pausing in his steps, the heir of Durin looked at his old friend and those icy blue eyes stayed locked on his face. “And what am I supposed to see?”_

_“Walk with me,” the other pled in his ever calm and patient voice, and he gestured to the stone path that lead to the city’s proud entrance that had, until very recently, still be sealed._

_“And what of my nephew?”_

_“I can’t imagine he’s gotten very far,” Balin petitioned again, and though his face remained passive, there was that hint of a smile at the corners of his eyes. “How long have I known you?”_

_Thorin huffed._

_“Walk with me.”_

_It was a battle to get the king to back down on his stubborn pride, but eventually he let out a frustrated groan before stalking after the other to the relief of the others. He attempted to set a brisk pace, but Balin was not to be swayed, his steps ever steady and patient. Struggling to match the step, Thorin finally allowed himself to settle into the pace, and was surprised to find that the simple act of slowing down seemed to ease a bit of the tension that had seated itself in his chest. His breathing was calming, though the anger was still there. It fizzled around him like electricity, setting the air around him aflame with his own emotional unrest._

_“Tell me,” Balin spoke after some time, and when his voice hit the other’s ears it seemed that they were unexpected, because for a moment Thorin kept a sidelong glance on the other. When he finally let his eyes drop to the path before him, Balin continued. “What is it tha’ bothers you so much about this?”_

_“He’s my nephew.”_

_The response was so automatic that it seemed to have lost any of its meaning._

_“He’s not your only nephew, Thorin,” Balin spoke with some understanding, ever his voice gentle. “And that can’t be the only reason.”_

_“He’s an heir to the line of Durin.”_

_“And wha’ does that mean?”_

_Silence._

_“That a miner from the Blue Mountains isn’t good enough?”_

_Again Thorin said nothing._

_Balin sighed a heavy sigh that betrayed just a hint of disappointment. “Was it not you who said that you would take each and every one of these dwarves over an army from the Iron Hills?”_

_“That was a different matter,” Thorin spoke under his breath, and he did not look at his old friend. The disappointment in the other was palpable, and he did not want to acknowledge it, despite the fact that he knew it very well._

_“Loyalty? Honour? A willing heart?” Balin continued, again quoting the other, and Thorin stopped in his steps._

_“What would you have me say?!”_

_The shorter dwarf paused in his step and turned to face the other, meeting his gaze fully and with just as much tenacity as Thorin gave. “Have y’ not seen how happy they are?”_

_“Should that concern me?”_

_“The happiness of your own kin?”_

_Thorin sighed and turned to look before him at the path. Of course Balin was right and he was being stubborn, but there was something about the whole situation that infuriated him. Kíli was not his heir. Fíli was. And the line would be secure in him, that much was certain. There had been a dwarf lass he’d left behind in the Blue Mountains. So what did it matter who Kíli chose to make his own? And yet it did. It bothered him that his nephew could be so certain of what he wanted when he was so impulsive and so young. It bothered him that his nephew could be so free with his affections, when his own were so stifled._

_“Thorin…why deny th’ lad simply because you deny yourself?”_

_And with as quickly as the other had disregarded Balin, his eyes now spun to meet his face in a mixture of shock and panic._

_“Oh Thorin don’t do that,” Balin continued softly, reaching to grasp the other’s forearm. “It is nothing to be ashamed of.”_

_“I’m not ashamed,” he answered quickly. Quicker than anything else he’d yet said to the other._

_“Then why do y’ treat him so unkindly?”_

_That was the question. Thorin knew he had been a fickle friend to the hobbit, and at times had been quite cruel to him. He was ashamed of that, certainly. And perhaps it was the mask he wore because, ultimately, he was ashamed of what he felt. After all, there were so many souls resting on his shoulders. He carried the weight of his father on his shoulders. His grandfather. His people. Those who had come. Those who had not. Why then settle his long dormant affections on the hobbit?_

_He wasn’t a burglar. He wasn’t even a dwarf. He wasn’t one of them._

_And indeed, that was the strongest reason of all. Bilbo Baggins was everything that he wanted him to be, and he simply couldn’t wrap his mind around it._

_“I don’t know,” Thorin finally admitted honestly, and there was regret in his tone. “Perhaps it is because…he is such a small thing.”_

_“A small thing?”_

_“Not to woo a halfling did I take on this mission,” he explained with his eyes down cast. There was some vulnerability now, but it was nothing to bother him. It was Balin he spoke to; Balin whom he had been through hellfire with. He could afford to be vulnerable before his old friend. “This was for my people. Our people.”_

_“Well,” Balin spoke with some understanding. “Yes, it is. But to woo a halfling…is such a small thing.”_

_“I do not understand.”_

_“Look where we are,” Balin continued, and he made a sweeping gesture to the mountainside. Erebor. Their home. Their reclaimed home. “We are standing where we have not set foot in an age…because of you. Can you not allow yourself such a small thing?”_

_“No.”_

_A heavy sigh, a hand clasped on the broad shoulder. “Are you less deserving of happiness than your own nephew?”_

_The words rung with a heavy pain through the air, though they’d been spoken softly. When Thorin said nothing in response, the hand that clasped his shoulder gave him a gentle squeeze._

_“I would like t’ see the same joy on your face…as I’ve seen on Kíli's, these past few weeks.”_

_“He is not of our kin.”_

_“What of it?” Balin retorted simply. “You and I both know many of our kin who mixed with the people of Dale. No one ever though’ anything of that.”_

_Thorin really had no good response to that either._

_“It is a curious thing,” Balin mused aloud. His voice was ever steady, though now it betrayed a smile, as if he carried a secret that the other could never know._

_“What’s curious?”_

_The older dwarf turned to meet his eye and dropped his hand from the strong shoulder. “The workings of the heart.”_

_There was a small chortle of bemusement. “Explain what you mean.”_

_“I’ve watched you, and all of you, since we left the hobbit’s home in the west,” Balin began with a twinge of memory, a hearkening to the past. “There is so much you do not see, though you know each and every member of this company.” Thorin watched his companion curiously, following his words but having no notion of what lay behind them. “Your attentions were not the only ones to settle on our halfling.”_

_This startled Thorin, whose expression dropped significantly. “Indeed?”_

_“But he long gave up the hobbit for you.”_

_Thorin raised his eyebrows quizzically as if he neither followed nor entirely believed. “Did he now?”_

_“Thorin.” It was neither a castigation nor a confirmation and the king settled his back against the wall. “If you are so moved by th’ thought of another wanting Bilbo, why not have him?”_

_The taller dwarf had no answer._

_“He loves you, Thorin.”_

_This also seemed to strike the dwarf strangely, and it showed as much from his expression._

_“It is a rare thing, to share love with another, especially among our race,” Balin added after some thought. “Do not let it go to waste.” And on his own face was a deep pain and regret that Thorin would not begin to understand, nor would he have the courage to ask._

_“And what of this other dwarf? How can you be certain the halfling does not harbour feelings for him?”_

_Balin gave him a patronizing look, as if warning him not to pry. “You could not ask for a dwarf more loyal to you, Thorin. Or your kin. Hear you me.”_

_Thorin nodded, though his expression was still unconvinced._

_“And if you cannot see that th’ hobbit has loved you all this time, then you’re not as wise as I thought.”_

_It took Thorin a while to be able to acknowledge the other’s words. Of course he knew of Bilbo’s affections, and he had himself played upon them more than once. When in a moment of weakness, or perhaps vulnerability, he found that openly expressed affection for the hobbit was not so unwelcome a thing to him. But ever he was tried by the strength necessary of his position. Then was no time for weakness. Then was no time for the vulnerability that affection brought with it._

_“It would do you well to dispense of your judgment, Thorin,” Balin spoke after the silence had settled for some time. “For both your nephew, and yourself.”_

_“I judge not too harshly,” Thorin responded defensively, though he knew that these words, also, were true. Balin knew him well. He’d known him long enough to understand the inner workings of his mind. After a moment’s thought, he added, “You think it is best? For Kíli?”_

_“Answer me this, when have you last seen him so happy?”_

_A nostalgic smile crossed the other’s face. “When he was but a dwarfling.”_

_“Shouldn’t that be enough?”_

Thorin was roused from his memory of the conversation by his other nephew’s return. It seemed in the search to find Kíli and Bofur, Fíli had lost his way…several times. Only after wandering through the same halls four times did he finally make his way back to the group and collided with his younger brother with a youthful enthusiasm that made the king smile inwardly.

Balin had been right, of course, about that much.

Letting his gaze venture to the hobbit, he watched as Bilbo spoke with the two young heirs of Durin and the toymaker. Kíli seemed to have lost some of his earlier exuberance, though he regained it long enough to have a tousle with his brother that ended in a stiff kind of resignation and settling himself against the wall with his lover’s arm around his shoulder comfortingly.

It wasn’t something Thorin would ever entirely be able to wrap his head around, but it was what it was.

And from what he could observe of the hobbit, Bilbo seemed to draw happiness from them. He laughed with them, though he scolded Kíli for his overly excited outburst in a mother-hen fashion. It made Thorin like him all the more.

What _was_ he waiting for?

Eyes scanning the horizon, he watched as the gathering storm seemed to grow in the distance. Little lights like campfires arose on the skyline. A thousand tiny fires. An army. Two armies, though he did not yet know for certain these numbers. Still, there was nothing to be done for the night. The forces were not advancing in the coming darkness. A watch could be set. And a conversation could be had.

“Master Baggins.”

The hobbit was torn from his conversation with the three dwarves opposite him by the deep voice that had long since ingrained itself into his memory. Wringing his hands once, he gave his three companions a hurried wave before dashing towards Thorin. As he made his way, Kíli said something to him that made his face change colour considerably and he tried to shake it off.

“Yes?” he spoke when he was now close to the dwarf king, and he kept his eyes downcast as he tried to shake the dreadful redness from his face.

“Might we talk?”

“Yes, yes of course,” the hobbit fumbled for words. “Do you um…should we…I mean…would you like to –”

“Follow me,” Thorin instructed simply, and he made his way down the winding stone pathway that Bilbo had followed before to reenter the city in his search for the two missing dwarves. As always, Bilbo trailed behind him like a lost kitten. He was tripping along nervously and didn’t seem to have a good grasp of where his feet were. Once he almost fell, but this time Thorin caught him, hearing the stagger of the steps just in time to turn and offer a strong, supportive arm. “You seem nervous,” he offered as casually as he could, and indeed far more casually than the hobbit was capable of.

“It’s nothing,” Bilbo blathered quickly, still trying to shake the crimson off his cheeks. “It’s just um…something…something your…nephew…you know what? Never mind.” He laughed a forced, contrived laugh and pushed himself forward.

“Do you care for me, Bilbo?”

The hobbit staggered once more in his steps and nearly fell a second time if not for Thorin reaching forward and grasping him firmly once more. This time, the dwarf did not release him but instead kept his strong grip on the other for support.

“Do I…what?”

“It is a simple question,” Thorin spoke with a bit more reserve than before, hoping to backpedal from the excessive bluntness of his previous words.

“Do I care for you?” Bilbo repeated, his own voice growing hoarse as if it were swallowed by his throat. Suddenly every inch of his mouth was dry as dust and he could hardly form words. “I…I suppose I do…care for you…Thorin I do.”

Somehow, coming from Bilbo, they meant so much more. And Thorin believed every word.

“Would it surprise you to learn that I also care for you?”

Bilbo let out a little nervous laugh and started to say, “Well, actually,” before he caught himself in his words and bit them back. “You do, then?” was what he finally settled on.

“I do.” And the king allowed himself a small, dignified smile. The hobbit watched him with a curious, confused eye, and Thorin could hardly begrudge him his uncertainty, with the way he had behaved. “I know that I have not been…particularly kind to you.”

“No, actually,” Bilbo responded with candid honesty.

“And for that, I am truly sorry.”

“You were sorry once before, Thorin,” Bilbo added quickly, though his voice had lost some of its punch, there was still that protective edge to it. Protecting himself. Protecting his own dignity.

“I know.”

“How can I be certain this time you mean it?”

There was still the pain to be addressed, and Thorin knew that. He knew he had hurt Bilbo, and the more Bilbo reminded him the more he realized just how much. But, as Balin had said, wooing the hobbit was such a small thing in comparison to what had already been accomplished. What was a bit more?

“Because this time I do not intend to hide,” Thorin responded simply. And as if to seal his words, he reached out to caress the hobbit’s cheek, just once, with his rough hand.

Bilbo’s face grew red all over again. “Who are you, and what have you done with Thorin?” the hobbit joked as a way to draw attention away from the fact that his whole body seemed to be telling him to accept Thorin right then, in spite of all the dwarf had made him go through in the past few months.

“Perhaps I am finally myself,” Thorin answered in a voice that sounded thoughtful, though unsure. “Perhaps it took an old friend to help me see the dwarf that I was hiding.”

“First your nephew, now you, I can’t imagine what’s going to be next,” Bilbo continued in his awkward, nervous way, but Thorin was not to be sidestepped by the hobbit’s compensating humour and he took his chin in his hand, tilting his head up so that he might look at him.

“Would you like to find out?”

“Yes,” Bilbo answered without any hesitation whatever. “Yes, I think I would.”

It seemed as good a time as any, so Thorin took the opportunity to lean in and kiss the hobbit briefly on the mouth. When he pulled back, at first, Bilbo’s eyes flickered to his face, then to his chest, then to the ground, as his expression grew incrementally redder and redder.

“Oh. Oh dear. Yes that was…that was a surprise.”

“Does it bother you?”

“No no no,” Bilbo replied hastily. “No not at all it’s just…well…” His face grew even darker, if it were possible.

And for the moment, Bilbo’s own mind ventured to the conversation he’d been having with the dwarf lovers before he’d been summoned by Thorin.

_“Oh khâzash, y’ little sneak!”_

_“Stop that!”_

_“Where were y’?”_

_“Found a room.” Kíli spoke very self-importantly, though when his brother clapped him firmly on the shoulder he hissed a bit. “Ouch!”_

_“So romantic!” Fíli was doing everything in his power to embarrass the hell out of the younger, though it seemed it was only marginally working. After all, with Bofur at his side it seemed there was little that could dampen his spirits._

_“It was.” And he smiled a goofy smile as he leaned his head on his lover’s shoulder._

_Bofur didn’t say anything but held the younger close._

_“Master Baggins.”_

_Four sets of eyes turned to the heir of Durin, and the hobbit seemed startled by the petition._

_“I think tha’s you, Bilbo,” Kíli joked with a hint of mischief in his voice._

_“Yes.”_

_“D’ y’ remember how t’ find the place where y’ found us?” Kíli asked as the hobbit made to approach Thorin, and Bilbo gave him a quick sidelong glance at him in confusion._

_“Of course I do.”_

_“Then y’ might as well make use of it.”_

_“Stop tha’, y’ cheeky lad,” Bofur scolded the younger lovingly, but Bilbo was too busy scurrying towards Thorin to make his personal feelings of such teasing known._

“Do you…want to go somewhere? To talk?” Bilbo finally forced out, though the instant he said those words he regretted them. It meant he had to follow through on them. It meant he had to make good on his word.

“I should like that very much,” Thorin replied, and he slipped his hand into the others seamlessly, as if it had always belonged there in the first place.  
Without knowing what he was getting himself into, Bilbo lead the way, following his feet to where he had no intention of going until a few moments ago.

He didn’t know what to think, or to feel. All that he knew, all that he felt, all that crossed his mind was Thorin.

Thorin.

Only Thorin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and in discussing this chapter with another friend, a request has been made for some thilbo aside. which i will attempt to do, to the best of my ability. even though its hard for me to write them because in my headcanon bilbo is a virgin and thorin is about as romantic as a brick. but what the heck. we'll give it a go. as usual it will be a separate fic for those of you who don't want smut in this story.
> 
> there will also be another aside between bofur and kili, and this time it will have an important plot point so i will do my best to fill people in here as to what that plot point is because it relates to events in the book leading up to the battle. so. yes. we will see.
> 
> as it stands atm, 2 aside chapters involving thilbo and kifur smut, and 1 chapter before we get to bot5a.
> 
> i'm really, really sorry. i've dragged it out as long as i can but there's only so much i can do.
> 
> r&r and cadbury eggs


	19. The Hardest Part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bilbo and thorin have a chat, and thorin has to prove his feelings to the hobbit.

Even as they made their way back into the darkness of the reclaimed dwarven city, Bilbo still wasn’t certain what exactly he was doing. He stood by awkwardly as Thorin lit a torch of them, lead the way cautiously as his mind darted back and forth between what had been said, what had yet to be said, and where his feet were leading them. The dust had hardly had time to settle when he was shuffling his way through an open door, the dwarf king not two steps behind him.

He didn’t venture as far as the bedroom. At least, not at first, though he set aside in his mind the possibility of going there later. Instead, he set about to clearing the table in the next room of dust before pulling out a chair and taking a seat on one side, leaving Thorin the space to take another. First Thorin affixed the torch into a fixture in the wall, then he too took his seat, though it was clear that much of what had been so strained between them, so difficult and painful to overcome, was gradually melting away.

“Of what did you wish to speak?” Thorin pressed when the silence had obviously grown too heavy for him, and he reached a hand across the table to the hobbit, his palm upward in invitation to hold the other’s hand. Bilbo hesitated, before letting his smaller hand be enveloped by the dwarf’s much larger one.

There were a few more moments of silence before Bilbo seemed ready to form words, and to let them spill out of his lips.

“Thorin I,” he began, though he had to pause there to keep his emotions in check. If he didn’t consider seriously his words, they might come back to bite him. “I must say…I’m…well, I’m angry. At what you’ve said. What you’ve done. And I need to know…if this is…”

“If I will stay true to my word,” Thorin finished for him, and though there was a hint of understanding in the dwarf’s blue eyes, there was a layer of sadness too. Regret at having failed the other. Recognition that the damage would need to be repaired. “I know that my word must mean very little to you now…but I swear to you that I am in this.”

The hobbit was floundering. His heart was stronger than his head in many respects, and though he knew in the rational part of him that the pain should have outweighed the desire he felt for the other, his heart refused to cooperate. How could he know? “You don’t understand just how much I want to believe that.”

“May I prove it to you? Prove to you my love?”

It was an odd statement, and came so abruptly that the hobbit blinked a few times as he took in the other’s face. The flickering light of the torch on the wall cast eerie shadows on both their faces, though it made Thorin look as though he were aflame himself. The intensity of his gaze was such that the hobbit was afraid to meet it, and he let his own eyes drop down to the hands that were laced together on the table top. His own looked so small. Like a child’s hand. “You think it’s that simple?”

“What would you ask of me?”

Glancing up to look at the other for a split second only, Bilbo could see the need in the other’s face. The determination. “Ask of you?”

“Yes,” Thorin responded quickly, and he gave the hobbit’s hand a firm squeeze. “Anything. Ask of me anything, and I will do so.”

“I can’t.”

“Please, Bilbo.”

The hobbit was beginning to question just whose love was to be proven, but he finally caved and met those piercing eyes with his own firm strength. “You want to prove your love to me?”

Thorin didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

“Then show me,” Bilbo answered in a clear and even tone. His words seemed to hit something in Thorin’s mind because the other looked perplexed, but Bilbo refused to go further. “You want me to ask something of you to prove your love. Well…this is…what I’m asking. That…that you show me. Prove your love by showing me.”

For a moment Thorin watched him curiously. Once he almost opened his mouth to say he didn’t understand, but when he thought on it he knew what Bilbo was asking. Bilbo wanted to know just how deep his feelings were, and actions spoke louder than words.

He’d been misusing his actions for so long that it was a wonder Bilbo was giving him this chance at all. Ever since they’d left Rivendell Thorin had given the hobbit mixed signals, and this was just another instance where his actions and words contrasted each other.

Sighing deeply, the dwarf gave the small hand that held to his another squeeze. “The truth is,” he began in a voice that was steady, yet lacked the normal clarity that he so often held. There was frailty there; an admission of weakness. Something that lay just beneath the surface that the dwarf lord had only just begun to admit to within himself. “I do not know how.” Just letting those words slip out was more than Bilbo ever would have expected from the future king. “Love…has never really been my strong suit. Even when it comes to my own kin.”

He turned his gaze downward at that point and Bilbo could feel the dwarf clenching and unclenching his hand around the hobbit’s smaller fingers. Was that shame he detected in the other’s tone? Perhaps. It was difficult to tell.

“I believed I had lost such feeling long ago…that it was swallowed in the fires that destroy my home and displaced my people. And…perhaps that is why I cloud my feelings with anger. Anger is something I understand. I know it much better.”

It was strange, hearing such vulnerability from the other, such exposed truth. Bilbo felt blessed just to hear it, though he didn’t allow himself any words to interrupt the other. Truly he already felt like Thorin had won him over, but there was something beautiful about hearing the other, and knowing him like this, the only sounds his deep baritone and the sharp crackle of the torch.

Again Thorin sighed, a deep, profound thing that seemed to fill the whole room with its heaviness. This time it was Bilbo who gave the other’s hand a reassuring squeeze. It seemed to have an effect on the other because Thorin glanced up to meet the hobbit’s gaze and when their eyes locked, he smiled. It was the same smile he’d had on the eyrie when the eagles had left them safely. The same smile he’d sported when he embraced Bilbo in recognition of what the hobbit had done. This smile was Thorin at his best, and though it didn’t show very often, it was, at least in Bilbo’s mind, the purest form of Thorin that he had yet seen. It was Thorin. The Thorin that was not battling with the weight of his people, the pain of his past, and the anger of betrayal.

“But that’s not what you asked,” he concluded finally. “You asked me to show you.” And without saying another word, Thorin took the hand that still held to his own and brought it to his mouth. First, gently, he kissed Bilbo’s knuckles. Then, releasing the hand, he took it in both hands so that he could brush the palm with his lips and there he kissed him as well before he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead into the other’s hand.

Bilbo was at a loss for words.

They sat like that for a while, Bilbo letting the king press his small hand to his forehead, and Thorin seemingly slipping into the other through that simple form of physical contact. When he finally pulled back and let his hands take the hobbit’s small hand in his own again, there was a lingering sadness that was felt – as if Bilbo wasn’t quite ready to let the touch cut off quite then.

“You’ll forgive me for not showing you enough,” he admitted quietly, and it was the cue Bilbo needed to jump back in, though he did with a bit more enthusiasm than was entirely necessary.

“Then keep going.” His words came out so fast that they brought a low chuckle to the other, who brought himself to his feet and continued to hold the other’s hand, forcing Bilbo to stand as well.

“Shall I?”

There was something in Thorin’s expression that made Bilbo’s voice vanish into his throat again, so the hobbit simply nodded. Pulling the hobbit close to him, Thorin continued to hold the hand within his own while his free hand wrapped around the hobbit’s back, pressing them close together in an embrace that was both tender and yet reserved. An attempt to show what was difficult to express, what had until then never been fully expressed before. The sheer fact that Thorin was trying had made a deep enough impression on the hobbit and he let his arm slip around the other, his hand resting in the middle of Thorin’s back.

He felt small pressed against him, but perfectly warm and strangely comfortable. Like he belonged there. Like they fit.

Then, softly, as if it might ruin the perfection that was the moment, Thorin spoke; “I’m sorry.”

Bilbo didn’t want to pull back from the other and instead pressed his head into the dwarf’s chest. Just being wrapped in the other’s arms had done wonders to his own body temperature. It was like wearing the other as a cloak, and he was enveloped in the heat of Thorin’s furs and leathers. “Yes, alright,” he mumbled into the other’s chest, though it was more of a vibration than anything else, as his words were swallowed up into the other.

“I may not know how,” Thorin continued in that same tone, and he pressed the hobbit closer to him so he could rest his chin atop his head. “But I will try to continue to show you.”

A small chuckle sounded from the face pressed into his chest, and the vibration carried through into his own body. It made the dwarf lord smile.

“Practice makes perfect,” was all that Bilbo said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i said that there was looking to be smut, but it appears neither of them are ready for sex yet. because bilbo needs more confirmation from thorin and thorin doesn't know how to show love properly ergo he needs to learn a bit. so anyway. but. never fear, smut will be here! if i don't write thilbo smut there is one more chapter of kifur smut on the horizon where kili gets to be dom. ah yis.
> 
> i only have like 10 pages to write of one paper, and the other paper is a creative project that i can do whatever i want so i think i will write a play. anyway. had to pop in and reward myself for all my hard work.
> 
> i'm graduating with a master's degree in 37 days EEK!


	20. Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bilbo has to make a painful decision in order to save his friends.

Things were different. Thorin had claimed the hobbit for his own, and very rarely would he allow himself to be separated from the Halfling. Between the pair of them and Bofur and Kíli’s “whirlwind romance,” there was plenty for the other dwarves to talk about. And talk they did, at first. But as with the phases of the moon or the gradual march of the seasons, everything had to change eventually.

And change came.

Nothing was ever simple, or seemed to stay that way. For the growing cloud in the distance was a gathering army.

Or, rather, two armies.

So while Thorin and Bilbo were trying so desperately to discover what it meant to be together in any sense of the term, it seemed that much of their interactions were distracted by the distant storm. Bilbo couldn’t grudge Thorin that, but he secretly began to resent the whole thing. He had finally found what it was he wanted, and he could claim it as his own, but it wasn’t. Not really. And as the reality of battle grew near, the more Bilbo knew he would need to act. Thorin wasn’t being himself.

Or maybe he was.

As soon as the armies’ purpose was revealed, Thorin became hard. Resolute.

Stubborn, really, though it wasn’t exactly Bilbo felt comfortable saying to his face. They were turning a new page in their relationship, but calling Thorin on being foolishly pig-headed didn’t seem like the best decision in the long run.

Yet the longer time drug by, the more Bilbo began to feel that crisis was imminent, and something had to be done.

He remembered what he’d found when Erebor was reclaimed. It still weighed him down, though he never took it out in front of the others. If they knew…but then he had been hiding it for some time. He knew what he was doing from the start.

Something needed to be done.

Night was fast approaching, and though Bilbo had formulated a plan, he wanted to give Thorin one more chance to help him reconsider. It wasn’t what he wanted to do.

But given the alternative, well…

“If it isn’t my hobbit.”

Bilbo froze in his tracks and felt every muscle in his back tighten and then release, as that wonderful, familiar baritone voice captured his attention. He shivered. That was something he could get quite used to. Not that shiver of joy from the other’s voice. No, it was the words.

My hobbit.

For a moment, just a moment, Bilbo thought that this conversation might go according to plan.

“Thorin,” was what he was finally able to choke out in response, and he turned and met those penetrating blue eyes that were now, and had often been, focused entirely on him. The other’s had noticed the change, though very few had said anything about it. Kíli had teased the hobbit, asking if he put the room to good use, but other than that the subject seemed taboo at best. With a battle looming on the horizon, there was little time for probing questions of inklings of affection. Love had been found, but it could not be enjoyed in its fullness.

Bilbo had to take a moment to be wrapped fully in the other’s arms. It was nice, being held by Thorin. There was a safety to be found in his arms. A warmth that otherwise wasn’t there for him. At night when they took turns sleeping, Bilbo was always pressed into Thorin’s arms, drawing heat from him in a tenderly innocent way. Thorin never slept; Bilbo knew this. But when the king held him, the air around them felt lighter. Like it no longer held the weight of the world.

It took the hobbit a few moments to be able to speak for he was too comfortable in the other’s arms, and too afraid of what he might say. He knew Thorin, or thought perhaps he knew him well enough to have already foreseen the outcome. Yet when he finally had the courage to pull back from the other’s arms, he still kept his eyes downcast and instead pressed his forehead into his beloved’s chest. “You don’t have to do this, Thorin.”

Though Thorin continued to hold the hobbit to him, his arms wrapped around the other’s back, Bilbo could feel him tense just slightly. “Don’t have to do what?”

Softly, Bilbo responded, “You know what.”

There was no bitterness or frustration, but Thorin dropped his arms gently and instead reached to take the hobbit’s hand, pulling the smaller male behind him as he made is way outside towards the outer wall of the city. Some distance from them, Bombur stood with his eyes on the campfires of the nearby armies, his brother Bofur with him, talking in hushed tones.

“Do you see what I see?”

Bilbo sighed and let go of Thorin’s hand, instead leaning against the wall with some disappointment. “I…supposed I do.”

Thorin turned to look Bilbo in the eye, and his gaze was so fixed and so searching that it was hard for Bilbo to meet it, though he did his best. “This is our home. I will not have it taken from us again.”

“But they don’t want to take it from you, Thorin! There’s plenty of gold – ”

“The wealth of my father? Of my grandfather? The treasure of my people, so easily relinquished to them?” A deep bitterness, perhaps even resentment, hung on Thorin’s tone as he spoke, and his shoulders pulled together, pressing towards his neck. “No. It was not for this that we travelled so far, and underwent so many trials.”

“Thorin.”

“Are you with me or not?” Thorin answered suddenly, and his frustration boiled over and the venom tinged his words.

There it was. Bilbo recoiled.

“You have to ask?” was the only response that seemed appropriate, though the hurt was evident in his tone, and Thorin caught it. He reached out to place his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, but the hobbit slithered out of his grasp easily.

“I’m sorry…”

Bilbo sighed and took a moment to slip his hand in his pocket. To Thorin it might have looked like a casual action, a way to distract himself from the tension that was palpable. But what he was doing was steeling himself up to what he would do. His fingers touched the cool crystalline mass and traced the facets delicately. “Thorin,” he spoke once, though he swallowed the word quickly.

“I know that you are with me,” Thorin responded in a tone that was tinged with regret.

“No, that’s not what I was going to say,” Bilbo responded quickly, though he added without hesitation, “and I am, Thorin.”

The dwarf nodded in understanding. He knew that. If anyone was with him, it was Bilbo. Bilbo had always been with him, even when he himself had not entirely been on Bilbo’s side. Ever he saw this, even when his own emotions got in the way. “I apologize,” he offered, with a bit more strength to his voice than before. “What was it…you wished to tell me?”

“That…I love you,” Bilbo answered quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. And he meant it.

He just hoped that it was something Thorin would remember, after all was said and done.

Regardless of what would happen in the future, the statement had an immediate effect, because Thorin’s expression shattered and without giving Bilbo a second to retract his words, his pressed his lips against the hobbit’s. In that moment Bilbo felt the love of the other. It was real and tangible. It poured out of him like a river of feeling, an emotional wave that covered the pair of them in its warmth. Bilbo wanted to stay like this, but alas, he knew he couldn’t. He needed to save that which he loved the most.

That was it. That was all. It might have seemed noble, or right, or worthy, but for him it was simply a matter of saving what he had come to love.

His new family. His friends. His beloved. His king under the mountain. His Thorin.

Was this the truest of love? Or was this the most selfish task he had yet endeavoured to do? For Bilbo it made no difference. It was the right choice for him, which ultimately made it the only choice.

They pulled apart and for a moment their heads remained pressed together, their lips just a breathe apart. Bilbo could taste the air from Thorin’s lungs as the other exhaled, and he took it in gratefully. It meant everything.

Finally, softly, but honestly, Thorin answered, “And I you, my hobbit. My burglar.” He smiled then, softly, and a small laugh puffed its way out of his mouth. “I was wrong, before.”

“Sorry?”

“You are quite the burglar,” the dwarf continued in a knowing tone. “An expert.”

“I’m hardly an expert,” Bilbo admitted awkwardly, feeling his face colour from a mixture of discomfort and pleasure at being complimented by the other.

“And yet you seem to have stolen something quite valuable indeed,” Thorin continued, and it was at this point that Bilbo felt every muscle in his body tense up. Had he been found out? Had Thorin’s hand slipped into his pocket?

No, he didn’t think so. He couldn’t have. Bilbo would have felt that, wouldn’t he?

He coughed, once, and reached up to take hold of Thorin’s furs, giving them a gentle tug. “Oh…I…um…I certainly haven’t…what do you mean?”

And without looking away, their eyes locked together and their faces so close, Thorin said, “my heart.”

If anything might have been able to talk Bilbo out of what he had decided to do, that was it.

He blinked once, twice, three times to rid his eyes of the emotions that wanted to leak out of the corners. To steal the heart of a dwarf…it had not ever been his intent, but hearing it said by the object of his affection meant everything to him. “I didn’t….I mean…I never thought…”

“Nor I,” Thorin responded softly. “Never thought it possible. It isn’t often that members of our race feel quite so deeply as what you have awakened in me.”

“I…don’t know what to say,” Bilbo admitted, but Thorin just pressed the hobbit into his chest once again.

“You already said more than enough,” and they stood like that for a long while, as if perhaps it might make their troubles end and they might find themselves in a world where there was no strife, no conflict, no danger of loss.

But such is the world of fantasy, and reality came back soon enough.

It was Dwalin that disrupted the moment, though it was the push Bilbo needed to continue what he had already set his heart on. Thorin released him, though with a lingering sense of longing, before he followed the other dwarf back inside, and Bilbo was left with the distant flickering of the fires, the brothers Ur, and his own thoughts.

No matter what had been said, he had to do this. For all their sakes. He didn’t want to lose any of them. Not now. Now that they had reclaimed their home, he finally felt like he might belong there.

All these thoughts were swirling through him when he was surprised to find Bofur standing a few paces away from him, having ventured over to see if the hobbit was okay. When the hobbit’s eyes landed on him he offered a comforting smile. “Y’ alrigh’ lad?”

Bilbo nodded and pried himself away from the wall. “I’m always alright,” was all he could think to say.

Leaning against the wall beside him, Bofur gave him a reassuring clap on the shoulder. “Wha’s on your mind?”

Shaking his head, Bilbo glanced up at the other and forced a smile. “Nothing,” he said first, before he added, “or everything.”

The dwarf chuckled and gave his shoulder a light squeeze before releasing him. “ ‘m happy for y’,” he offered reassuringly, and Bilbo’s smile gave way to a real one at the words.

Somehow coming from Bofur they meant a lot more. It was almost like he was saying, I found a love of my own, but I never gave up on you achieving yours. Perhaps that wasn’t the subtext, but in Bilbo’s mind it was what he heard at the edges of the words.

“I’m happy for you too,” Bilbo answered honestly, and the words pulled a smile out of Bofur that Bilbo only saw every so often, though he recognized it well. In his mind, he called it the other’s ‘only for Kíli’ face, because it was when he thought of Kíli, or complemented him, or someone else mentioned the younger dwarf to him, that it crossed his face.

“He’s a good lad,” Bofur said, which was also what he nearly always said in such times. It was, if anything, a way of saying his love was beyond words. And Bilbo understood. Right now, anyway, he felt like perhaps he might.

“Go back to the place where I found the two of you,” Bilbo instructed suddenly. “Take Kíli.”

The laugh that left the other must have been one of surprised because it exploded from him suddenly and he braced himself against the wall.

“I mean it!” Bilbo pressed. “I…well, I might have done something. For you.”

This seemed to help the other centre himself, because a few more puffs of laughter left him, though he seemed to have more control. “Did y’ now?”

“I did,” Bilbo confirmed hopefully.

“For me an’ th’ lad, or for you an’ Thorin?”

The colour of Bilbo’s face changed slightly, but he ignored the implications of the words. “No one will disturb you. Thorin is busy, and only the two of us know where it is.”

Still, Bofur didn’t seem entirely convinced. “Why’re y’ doin’ this?”

And for once, Bilbo knew exactly what to say. “Because love of this kind is rare among your race. Thorin said as much to me. It should not be wasted.”

It seemed that those words did the trick, because the amusement melted into genuine gratitude, and Bofur clapped the other on the shoulder once more. “Y’ sure you don’ want t’ use it?”

Bilbo just smiled softly. “We’ll see what tomorrow holds.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and for those who have read the book, bilbo goes on to give the arkenstone to the elven king and bard to negotiate an end to the mounting conflict. i won't write much about that because it'll be to angsty for me and thorin will be undoubtedly bitchy about it. but there are bagginshield feels in this so there's that.
> 
> r&r please! :)
> 
> oh and the chapter that would follow this naturally is the work called "underneath". the link is here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/770200


	21. White Blank Page

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i didn't want to go to the battle right away so instead i went to a slightly less painful but still painful episode of thorin and bilbo getting their hearts broken because of bilbo's choice.

With as soundly as the archer and the toymaker slept that night, the hobbit struggled to get his eyes to close for even a second.  His heart pounded in his chest as he curled up on his bedroll near the rest of the others.  The gravity of what he had done still weighed on him and his heart.  He knew that Thorin would resent his actions.  Probably resent him, when he found out what had happened.  But what was there for it?  Bilbo had discovered something powerful, meaningful, and beautiful in his life through this adventure, and he didn’t want to risk losing it, even if it meant losing it in another way.  Any way to end the brewing conflict, so that life was spared.

And perhaps he was overreacting.  He told himself that the group of them had survived many trials together, relatively unscathed.  What was one more?

But this was different.  This was open war.  Or so it appeared to be.  Bilbo had never seen war before, and he prayed he would never have to.

Then there was Gandalf.  The wizard had been all but a memory to them for such a long time that Bilbo had quite forgotten him until he’d made his presence known to the hobbit in the encampment.  He thought Bilbo had made the right decision.

Bilbo himself was no so sure.

So, when dawn finally began to grace the face of the land with her presence, the rosey tinge of grey on the horizon, Bilbo felt his stomach drop out from within him, knowing that, for good or ill, what he’d done would be made known if not today, then soon.  Very soon indeed.

Trumpets sounded from the encampment outside.  Bilbo’s heart jumped into his throat.  He hadn’t seen Thorin since the night before, and as the king approached the gate, Bilbo felt ever more frightened of his response.  The dwarf lord turned to meet his gaze for a moment and there was a hint of what had chanced between them the night before in his eyes.

Oh, how Thorin would resent him.

The others were coming together to see what the news would be.  They knew why the armies stood by, and for the most part, they agreed with Thorin.  Bilbo wondered if this was in part what had earned dwarves their negative, somewhat greedy reputation.  It made him sad.  But nothing could top the worry in his heart at what was to come.

The last to join the group were Bofur and Kíli, who staggered in with the rest of them still heavy with sleep and affection, though the change in their prospects seemed to have affected them.  Everyone was curious to see what the nearby armies would say.

Would they all resent him?  These things all plagued the hobbit’s mind as he came to the wall and gazed down at the faces below.  The company gathered around him.  This was it.  This was the moment.

“Would the king listen to another embassy, as new tidings have changed the matters at hand?”

Thorin, ever strong, dignified, and power, gazed back down at the runner.  “I would,” he responded, before he turned and said quietly to Balin, who stood directly to his right, “That will be Dain.  The dwarves of the Iron Hills are with us.”

Bilbo stood some distance from them, but as they spoke he turned his eyes back to the ground below.  Bombur stood closest to him, then Bifur, and further along Bofur and Kíli, all staring down with rapt attention at the emissary.  It was a very real fear that they might all turn on him, if they knew.  Bilbo bit his lip.

A few moments and a small company appeared below them, among them the elven king Thranduil and Bard, the representative of the people of Laketown.  Bilbo already knew what they would say.

“Hail Thorin,” called Bard, carrying himself with much the same leaderly dignity that Thorin did, though of a softer vein.  “Are you of the same mind since last we met?”

Thorin scoffed at him in bemusement.  “I have seen no reason to alter my mind; if that is all you have come for, you are wasting your time.”

“Is there nothing for which you would yield any of your gold?”

“Nothing that you or your men might offer,” Thorin answered quickly.

“And what of the Arkenstone of Thrain?”  And just like that, Bard held the shimmering stone up so that the firstlight could catch it’s multifaceted surface.  The colours shown like stars.

In that moment, the silence was so dense that Bilbo was certain he could hear Thorin’s heartbeat.

When the dwarf lord finally spoke again, his voice was so low that it was a wonder any of the gathered party below was able to hear it.  “That stone belongs to my grandfather, and my father, and so is passed to me.  How came you by this?”

“We’re not thieves, if that is your mind,” Bard replied cleanly and clearly.  There was a hint of brazenness in his tone, and Bilbo felt himself shrinking further and further into the stonework of the wall.  He didn’t want to think of how this might end.  “But we will return to you your own if you give to us ours.”

The rage was building in Thorin.  The whole of the company could see it clearly, like an electrical current surging around his form.  And, for many of their own parts, the rage was collectively shared.  The beauty and honour of their people in the hands of those to whom it did not belong.

Many of them quivered.  Dwalin’s rage seemed to match Thorin’s; Gloin gripped his axe as if restraining the urge to cast it down at the gathered crowd.  Even Fíli was gripped with anger on his uncle’s behalf, and Bilbo thought perhaps the others might share it, though he refused to look at them.

“How came you by this?” Thorin asked again.

There was no answer.

“How came you by it?!”

“I gave it to them!” Bilbo shouted, though where Thorin’s voice rose in anger, Bilbo’s cracked in desperation.  In that self-same moment, all eyes turned to him and he could _feel_ every emotion as it bored its way into his skin.  The anger, the resentment, the surprise.

But nothing matched the utter look of betrayal in Thorin’s eyes.  For that look, Bilbo felt like he might as well have ripped the dwarf’s heart out of his chest and stabbed it with his own sword.

“You?” was all he could say, and his tone had dropped.

The night before was flashing through both sets of minds in that moment.  The honesty of their words, their embrace, their confession.  In this very place, on these very walls.

For Bilbo, this was the truest expression of what he’d said.  But for Thorin, well, it was clear.

“You.  You…”  Thorin’s voice had shifted to a low growl as he breached the space between them in half a second.  “You said you were with me.”

There was a pain in Bilbo’s heart that was too much to take, seeing the betrayal in Thorin’s eyes.  If he could explain…

But no, that wouldn’t do it.  There weren’t words to explain what he’d done.  None that Thorin would hear.

“You!  You MISERABLE hobbit!” Thorin yelled, grabbing Bilbo by the shoulders and slamming him into the wall.  “You played your part well, _burglar_.”  The resentment coated his tone, and he shook Bilbo in his rage.  Like a doll.  Like a toy.  Several of the others tried to step in to stop him, among them Bombur and Balin, but Thorin would not release his painfully tight grip on the hobbit.  “Yes you played it well.  The burglar.  The expert.”  The words were well-chosen and terse.  Like he felt that all the things Bilbo had said, all the times they had struggled to be close, had been a lie.  A manipulation to get closer.  That Bilbo had taken advantage of him.  The smouldering hatred in those eyes was worse than being ignored.  Much worse.

Bilbo made to grab for the battlements as best he could for fear that Thorin might throw him from the wall to his death.  In his head he screamed a thousand apologies, but not a one could leave his lips.

“Curse Gandalf and his faith in you!  I wish I had him here, that I could tell him how his choice for you played out.”  And he lifted Bilbo by the front of his armour, pressing him ever closer to the dangerous fall from the wall.  By now, Balin, Bombur, and even several of the others were trying to pry the dwarf from the hobbit, though his fingers were tightly clenched, and Bilbo did little to fight it off.  “As for you, I would throw you to the rocks!”

Bilbo resigned himself to it when a sharp voice called up from the ground below.

“Enough!”

It was Gandalf.

“You wish to have me here, and your wish is granted!  Now release the hobbit and do not damage him!  Hear what it is he has to say.”

Thorin was less surprised by Gandalf’s presence than Bilbo had been that night, but the voice seemed to have a necessary power, for he did not so much as release Bilbo as he dropped him to the floor at his feet, taking a step back in anger, betrayal, hurt, and disgust.

“I care not what he has to say,” Thorin replied bitterly, and his piercing blue eyes gazed as if into Bilbo’s very soul.  “He has already said quite enough, but speak then.  Defend yourself, you descendant of rats.”

There was a moment where Bilbo thoughts perhaps their pain was equal, though Thorin did not see it.  For where Thorin only saw the hobbit’s betrayal, Bilbo’s heart ached at how cruelly Thorin was treating him now.  For in spite of everything, he still loved him.  He was doing this out of love.  All of it was for Thorin, even if the dwarf lord could not see it as such.  Tears glinted at the corners of the hobbit’s sad eyes, but they did not move Thorin’s heart, nor he ventured any others.  He could not look at them.  He only kept his gaze on Thorin, and the endless resentment in his gaze.

“You…you told me,” he began shakingly, biting back his emotions.  “That I was due one fourteenth of the share of the treasure.”  He paused and had to choke back his tears.  “Perhaps I took it too literally.  But, as…part of this company, I am…I am guaranteed my due.  What I do with it…is my choice.”

“Very well,” Thorin responded flippantly.  “Go then.  Join your _friends_.  I shall arrange to have a fourteenth of the treasure brought in exchange for the Arkenstone of my fathers.  But you…may you and I never meet again.”  His tone was cold as the icy gaze he cast on Bilbo.  It hurt to hear.  He ventured it hurt equally for the dwarf to say it.  “No friendship of mine goes with you.”  And with that, Thorin turned his back on Bilbo.  Likely forever.

As Bilbo was lowered down the wall towards the gathered ensemble, fresh tears streaked his cheeks.  Several of the dwarves – among them Bombur, Bofur, Ori and Balin – offered their sad farewells or sad, despondent glances.  Others – Dwalin, Gloin – were glaring into his skin their judgement.

Bilbo had done what had to be done to save that which had grown to mean so much to him, and lost it all in spite.

His feet touched the ground, but his heart was still on the battlements.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i tried to keep as close to the book as possible, but added some of my own touches.
> 
> *weeps silently in the corner*


	22. Ghosts That We Knew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SPOILER ALERT - BOTFA  
> contains some violence

The night that came was cold.  Bilbo was surrounded by elves and men, and Gandalf kept him company, but it brought him no real peace.  His heart was inside Erebor with his friends and his love, but the distance between them was so great that nothing he could think of in the world of elves, men, dwarves, or hobbits could broach that terrible distance.

Inside the great dwarven city’s walls, the tension was equally palpable.  Each dwarf knew that Thorin had no intention of giving a fourteenth share of the treasure in exchange for the Arkenstone, though he intended to get it back.  There were some who did not blame him.  It was, after all, the jewel of their people and the timeless sign of his rule.  Many who had lived in Erebor before its fall agreed with Thorin, and supported his decision.

Others – among them the miners from the Blue Mountains, who did not hold the same esteem for the jewel as Thorin did – felt his behaviour reproachable at best, abhorrent at worst.  Bofur for one was shamed by Thorin’s behaviour.  He cared for the hobbit, perhaps not as he once had, but still deeply and counted him as a friend.  And, for what it was worth, he felt he understood the depth of love between the two of them, and it was out of that depth of love that Thorin was reacting.  He had been on the battlements the night before, when Bilbo and Thorin had shared their last tender embrace.  He’d overheard some of the gentle, kindly, loving things that passed between them.  He felt he understood because he knew what it felt like, to love deeply.

Kíli, on the other hand, was caught.

Fíli had wasted no time at all taking his uncle’s side, for good or ill, because that was expected of kin.  When Thorin raged about his anger, his frustration, his betrayal by the traitorous little hobbit, Fíli listened and echoed his agreement.  But Kíli struggled.  He wanted to be with his uncle.  Wanted to see the world, see the hobbit, see everything as Thorin saw it.  Thorin was his uncle, after all.  His kin.  The closest thing he’d had to a father since he was a mere dwarfling.  But on this thing Kíli felt he was wrong.  And perhaps it was because he was too young to remember the jewel of their people.  Perhaps it was because the treasure seemed to have lost some of its lustre since he’d discovered his own treasure.  Perhaps it was because he too counted Bilbo among friends, though he had once counted him a rival.  Bilbo was one of them.  He might not have been a dwarf, but he had the heart of lion in his chest, and he had done so much for them having only known them such a short time.

Kíli watched his uncle battle with bitterness as greed poisoned his heart, and it frightened him.  It was a side to Thorin that he hadn’t seen before, and he was uncertain that he wanted to see it.

That night he joined Bofur and his brother Bombur on the battlements, leaving his own brother Fíli to look after Thorin in his anger.  They were waiting for Dain to arrive.  That was the plan.  Dain and the dwarves from the Iron Hills would overwhelm the elves and men with their sheer numbers, and the Arkenstone would again be theirs, without having to forsake any of the treasure.

Slipping into the space beside Bofur, Kíli let his hand lace with the others.  “Well?” he asked tentatively.  The night was cool and dark.  The two were watching for any sign of Dain and his company.  They were also looking for Bilbo.

When Bofur shook his head, Kíli understood and gave his hand a squeeze.

Morning broke with a blood-red sun, and the three on the battlements had gotten little sleep – worry for Bilbo, for their kin, and despite not wanting to admit such, for themselves.  Open war was upon them.  They could sense as much, and when the sun bled it’s crimson light on the sides of the kingdom, Oin startled everyone with a spoken prophecy.

“Th’ portents say when a blood-red sun spills on th’ mountainside, bloodshed will follow.”

All the dwarves felt the gravity of the words and readied themselves for a battle they felt unprepared for and reluctant to face.

With the morning came Dain’s forces, and for a moment only it seemed like perhaps battle would be thrust upon them, as Thorin was still determined to reclaim what was his without due payment to the forces amassed below.  But that moment would never come.

A shadow grew on the horizon.

It was Gandalf who saw it first.  His eyes were not sharp, but his senses were alight to what was gathering in the distance.  Orc forces.

“Halt!” he called to the gathered armies of men, elves, and dwarves.  “Gloom is upon us all!  An orcish army rides from the North!  Bolg and Azog – those foes who were expelled from Moria when the city was reclaimed ride to battle!”

The tables were turned, and for the first time since the love of gold had overtaken the hearts of the dwarves, it seemed common sense had wormed its way into their minds, who now saw the necessity of putting aside personal grievance in favour of alliance against this common enemy.  The gates were soon opened so the three leaders – Dain (who had with his army marched through the night to reach his kin), Bard and Thranduil – might discuss their tactical response to the coming danger.

Within the dwarf city however, Thorin tarried.  The company began to ready themselves for battle – taking up arms, armouring themselves, yet Thorin vanished for some time into the depths of the city.  It was Fíli and Kíli who eventually found their uncle, deep within the treasure store, himself armed and dressed for battle, but his attention locked on what seemed to be an endless sea of gold before him.

“Uncle Thorin?”  It was Kíli who pressed his uncle tentatively as they approached.  His own armour felt strange and heavy.  He was quite unused to being so covered, having never been in open war himself, but it was a necessity, given the bloodshed outside.  The others were already gathering near the gate, ready to charge and join forces with their kin and the loosely formed alliance.

“I do not believe I spoke to you of my grandfather’s sickness,” Thorin spoke softly in a voice that barely lifted above the sound of the crackling fire of their torches, or the din from outside the firm stone walls.

It was not something either of the brothers expected their uncle to say, especially at a time such as this.

“I watched him succumb to it, when I was still young.”  He turned to glance over his shoulder at them and nodded once.  “Like the pair of you.”

“Uncle Thorin, the others – ”

Thorin turned his back to them again, his eyes searching the wealth that lay before them.  “I remember thinking to myself…how strange it was, to see him like that.”  He sighed; a heavy sound in the great hall.  “Shameful.  Love of all else left his mind.  And while there is beauty to be found in gold…and jewels…they offer little comfort.  Their embrace is cold.”

Kíli reached out to place a hand on Thorin’s shoulder, and Fíli followed suit, placing his hand on the opposite shoulder.

“Many who knew him then believed it was my grandfather’s sickness that brought the dragon’s filth upon our kingdom.”

“Uncle Thorin…”

Thorin stopped and turned to look his nephews in the eye.  He saw them clearly then, the both of them.  They wore their armour proudly, though it weighed them down.  It was clear that neither knew the reality of war.  He did not want them to know it now.

But war was upon them.  It was outside their door.

“I have brought shame upon you and the line of Durin,” he stated softly, and this time it was Fíli would reproached him, and his tone was firm and direct.

“Our friends…our _kin_ …they’re dying uncle!  An’ we can’ leave them t’ that!”

“No, you are right,” Thorin answered quickly, and he clapped both youths on the shoulders simultaneously before pulling them close.  “I would have you stay within the city but I know you would fight me on it.”

“Wha’, an’ let our friends…our kin fall?!”  It was Kíli this time, and there was a real fire in his gaze as he said it.  No, there would be no holding the pair of them back.  They would not be coddled when those who meant the most to them fell.

The three embraced then in the chill of the hall, then Thorin released his nephews and lead the way to the gate.  When they joined the others, they were already loosely forming ranks, or as much of ranks as the thirteen of them could pull together.  Dwalin raised the gate and it was Thorin who lead the charge; with him came the same tenacity, the same courage, the same dwarvish pride that had stood up against the pale orc when they reclaimed the dwarf city of Moria.  His twelve companions bravely followed him.  To victory.  To defeat.  To glory.  To death.  To whatever fate might meet them there, all love of gold now quite forgotten.

Many were already bloodied and fallen when they joined the fray, their presence quite forgotten by those outside.  But when Thorin shouted with a mighty voice, he seemed to rouse them from their battle-wearied fatigue and they rallied together, the forces recharged by his presence.  Bilbo, who had taken cover and the protection of the ring, felt a burning exhilaration in his heart upon seeing the dwarf lord finally emerge from his self-created prison.

Unlike the others, Bilbo never once forgot about the company within those stone walls.  He would never forget them.

From the safety of where he crouched hidden, Bilbo was able to see them all, though they soon were separated in the fury of the battle.  Thorin had led the charge right into the thick of the battle, heading straight for the pale orc who had a bounty on him, and he the vengeance of his blade upon it.

Fíli and Kíli were close behind their uncle, Kíli using the expertise of his bow to take down the foes that approached his uncle when Thorin’s attentions were directed elsewhere, and Fíli wielded his dual swords to slice down around the elder, to clear his path to the one he sought.

Dwalin was not so far from the Durins, battle axes taking off heads of every orc in his path.  One was soon lodged in the neck of one of the hideous Gundabad wargs and he let lose such a battle cry that Bilbo felt in his heart such a swelling pride at having known such a courageous and dangerous dwarf.

Balin was separated fast from his brother and the Durin’s though he collided with Dain and the two faced down their foes back to back, protecting the other with swords held high and firm, unshaken by carnage and unimpeded by the gathering bloodshed.

Bilbo lost sight of Gloin quickly, as the dwarf was caught up amidst a swelling of human soldiers, though ever so often the hobbit would catch a flash of red – a bit of beard – or his axe and knew that he still drew breath, and blood.

Oin and Nori joined up when they were separated from their own brothers by the never-ending sea of bodies.  An unlikely pair, and yet for one who was so quick to look over his shoulder, Nori was attentive to everything behind the older dwarf’s back, using his mace to crush anything that sought to injure his newfound companion.

Dori kept close to Ori though they had hardly gotten into the thick of the battle before the young scribe was knocked unconscious from a blow to the head by one of the many rocks cascading down from the orc’s stationed above.  Dori went down to protect his body from being trampled, and both were lost from Bilbo’s sight, but his heart ached for them, and for the uselessness of his own position.  He lacked the courage they had.  They were out spilling blood, shedding blood, and yet here he was, crouching and protected by the invisibility the ring provided.

Bifur, quite like Thorin, had charged into the fray without any apparent fear, and his cousins had been close behind him, following in his wake.  The older dwarf used his boar spear to make quick work of anything that came close to him, and before his cousins were separated from him by a group of warg riders, they kept his back clear by wielding their mattock and cleaver.  Once separated, Bilbo too lost sight of them, and his heart made another little leap.  He couldn’t do this.  He couldn’t watch this.  He could not bear to watch his friends fall and vanish from sight, knowing naught if they were alive or dead.  Pulling his small sword out of its sheath, he rose to his feet to join them.  To do whatever little he could.

But he never got the chance.  He was knocked unconscious.

Still, the battle raged on.

After being separated from his cousin and being unable to see where any of the others were, Bofur made his primary goal to keep his brother safe.  Bombur did well to hold his own, but more than a few times he was approached from behind and Bofur would have to smash back the orc with his mattock.  Each time it got worse.  The fear of death was very real then; not his own death, but the death of his kin, the death of the others.  No dwarf fears for his own death.  They are a proud and mighty race.

But woe to the opponent who brings pain and ruin upon their loved ones.

It was when Bombur fell that things began to get real.  The younger dwarf had all his energy occupied by a pair of warg riders, when the blow came from behind.  He crumpled, and Bofur had not been fast enough to stop it.  Crushing the offending orc’s skull with his mattock and smashing it into the ground, he was given the space of a few seconds to crouch down to see to his brother’s safety.

Bombur was unconscious.

The miner did not move from that stop again as he stood defensively over his brother’s fallen form, a renewed strength within him.  He could not see the others.  All he could see was the never-ending onslaught of orc scum.  So he fought.  With all his strength and everything he fought.  Through fatigue and injury.

And some hundred yards away, his lover was doing exactly the same.

Fíli and Kíli had the strength and agility of youth on their side, and while many of the others were burdened with the pain of their years, this was not so for the two young Durins.  Fíli held the orcs off so his brother could use his expert eye to take down as many of their foes as he could.

Until his arrows began to run low.

In hand to hand combat Kíli was no expert.  He was hardly a failure, but his skill with the sword was not as strong as his skill with the bow.  It took much of his concentration to keep the monsters at bay, and it seemed each time he took down an orc, three replaced it.  It was a never ending battle to keep them at bay.  He was losing strength.  He was losing his certainty.

A sharp stab into the skull of a warg and he heard Fíli screaming their uncle’s name.  Both brothers turned to watch as their uncle fell to his knees at the feet of Bolg.

For just a moment, the entire world seemed to stop around them.  There was no battle.  There was no sea of endless orcish filth to throw back.  There was only Thorin.  Their uncle.  The closest thing they had to a father.  Falling to his knees.  Bleeding heavily from the side.  Landing on his stomach.  Eyes flickered and then closed.

_No._

Fíli charged the orc first, both his swords flashing about him as he threw his weight into the great orc, his rage giving him flight while Kíli remained frozen, his eyes fixed on his uncle.  There was no telling if Thorin lived, though he did not move.  Then Fíli too took a blow to the side, though it did not keep him from swinging wildly at the gathering horde that surrounded him and their fallen uncle.  It was then and only then that Kíli was finally able to will himself to move, and clenching his sword in both hands tightly, he charged the orc with a cry so feral that the orcs nearest him gave way to him in fear at the youthful fury.  He too collided with Bolg’s massive form, though his sword did minimal damage.  It was the force of his body weight that seemed to dislodge the orc, who fell before him as his brother still swung madly at any orc that drew near them, blood flowing freely from his side.  Kíli followed his brother’s lead, swinging without as much direction as he’d had before, now so blinded by the fear and rage of watching his uncle fall.  One by one they drove the orcs back, but it was not enough.  Fíli was floundering.  The loss of blood was beginning to affect his head and once he stumbled.  Twice.  Kíli came to his aid, now using what strength was in him to fight back the onslaught from his fallen uncle and falling brother.  But he could not do it alone.  There were too many of them.

There was a flash of light and searing pain when he took a blow to the back.  An orcish blade ran him through.  He saw the glint of metal tinged with the redness of his own blood as he crumpled onto the dirt beside his brother.  Their blood mixed together, one great flow of red.  Thorin was still unmoved.  Fíli was barely moving.

Crawling to the space between them, Kíli did not release his blade and tried to fight them off until it was finally knocked from his shaking hands.  Dark eyes searched.  Neither moved.  Fíli’s blood continued to flow from his wound.  Kíli reached up to touch his own.  It was hot.

In that moment he realized that they were dying, all of them.  There was no glory and dignity to be found in the battle.  Only pain and death.

Curling up between his uncle’s and brother’s bodies, his head grew light as he held them close.  He could not see the others.  He wondered if they would share the same fate.

He thought of Bofur in those moments, praying for his safety, or for a swift and painless death.  And he was not afraid.

\-----

When Bilbo finally came to, it was to a sharp pain in his head and a strange, unsettling quiet on the battlefield.  Lifting his head, he was horrified to see the many bodies the covered everything he could see.  His eyes flickered back to the ground beneath him.  He couldn’t look.  How long had he been out?

Slipping the ring off his finger, he tried to force himself to his feet.  A man, a soldier from Laketown, saw him rustling and came to his aid.  “Are you hurt?” the man asked, and Bilbo shrugged.

“I’m…no I’m alright.  I got a nasty knock on the head though,” he offered, and the man did not hesitate to pick him up and carried him back to their makeshift camp.  As he walked, Bilbo was overwhelmed by the sheer number of bodies that surrounded them.  “What happened?  While I was out?”

“We won,” the man answered softly, though there was a deep pain and regret in his voice.  “But at what a cost.”

Bilbo could see as much, and he tried not to let his eyes wander too far through the sea of bodies to search out any that he might recognize.  The carnage was clear enough to him; it would be a miracle if all his friends and companions still drew breath.

 _So this is the reality of war?_ Bilbo thought to himself.  _I see no glory in this.  I only see death.  Death and ruin.  And blood.  So much blood.  So much waste._

When they arrived at the campsite, Gandalf was upon the hobbit so fast that he hardly had time to process that the wizard was there and pleased to see him.  Gandalf embraced the hobbit, but his feeble return was emotionless and forced.  “I feared your luck had finally run out,” the wizard spoke kindly as he released Bilbo, but the hobbit gave a weak shrug.

“Would that I had enough luck for…” and he gestured widely around him at the many fallen bodies.

Gandalf did not acknowledge the statement, but it touched him in his heart.  “Come.  There is someone you must see.”

The gravity of those words did not sit right with Bilbo, but he did as he was told and followed the wizard through what looked to be a makeshift triage.  Oin was tending to the wounded.  There was one, at least, that Bilbo knew had survived.  Further off, there was a gathered collection of bodies that had been retrieved and identified, or so Bilbo thought, though he could not see them.  They were covered with sheets of linen, a human custom of respect of the dead.

A few pairs of boots protruded from the sheets but Bilbo let his gaze flick away from them.  He didn’t want to recognize any of them.  Not yet.

Gandalf led him into a tent and stood aside, gesturing the hobbit inside but not daring to follow him.  When Bilbo entered, he was both relieved and terrified to see Thorin lying within, bloodied and bruised, his eyes swollen and glazed.  The second their gazed connected and Bilbo could see the pain in Thorin’s eyes, he rushed to his side and grasped his bloodied hand in his own, pressing it close to his chest.  “Oh Thorin…”

The smallest of smiles pulled at Thorin’s mouth as he gave Bilbo’s hands as much of a squeeze as he could muster.  “My thief,” he replied quietly.  His voice was low; it pained him to speak, that much was clear, but Bilbo only heard his words.  The ‘my’ was there again.  Thorin had reclaimed him, for all that had changed between them leading up to the battle.  It tugged at Bilbo’s heart and added to the pain he already felt at seeing his love so wounded.  “I am glad you are here with me now.”

The hobbit had to bite back his tears as he knelt next to the dwarf king.  He didn’t need to ask to know that Thorin meant now, at the end.  Just a brief survey of his wounds said he would not last the night.

Bilbo wasn’t ready.

“I would take back my words at the gate,” Thorin continued softly, and with his free hand he reached up to tousle some of the hobbit’s golden curls.  The touch was both welcome and horrifically painful for Bilbo to endure, but he would endure it, and as a few more tears threatened to overtake his face, Thorin let his thumb reach across to brush them away.  “I cannot part from you without your love and friendship.”

“No,” Bilbo replied, shaking his head firmly.  “They are all forgotten, Thorin.”  He choked on his own words and had to take a moment to steady himself as he held tightly to Thorin’s hand.  He wanted to caress him, but his body had lost its ability to move.  And, even moreso, he feared that any touch might cause his love pain.  He would sooner hurl himself into an abyss than bring any more pain to the one before him.  “I…I am glad…that we are able…”  He stopped again.  Was he glad?  No.  He was not glad.  He could not be glad at this parting.  He could not be glad at losing the one whom he loved so deeply, who had changed his life so much in such a short space of time.  Whom he had counted as his one, that he might spend the rest of his life with.  He was willing to live out the rest of his years here in Erebor, with Thorin, simply to be with him.  But it was not to be.  The journey ended here.  What he finally was able to force out was, “It was an honour…to be a part of your company, king under the mountain.  It was…far more…far more than a hobbit such as me deserved.”

Thorin laughed lightly, though it was clear the action pained him from the way his eyes crinkled immediately following.  “No.  There is much good in you, my little burglar.  More than you know.  Courage and wisdom in great measure.  If more in the world valued food, song and cheer over hoarded gold, it would be a better world.”  The admission had a double edge to it, and Bilbo heard the dual meaning to the words as they were spoken.  Thorin had been poisoned, albeit briefly, by the gold sickness, and it had consumed him.  Now it seemed he held it as the reason for his ruin.  Bilbo shook his head but Thorin reached out to cup his cheek once more, brushing a few more stray tears from the hobbit’s face.

Few words were spoken between them after that, but Bilbo lingered until darkness finally took Thorin from him, and he went to join his fathers in their heavenly halls.  He watched as the eyes grew dark and dim.  The light left them.  And Bilbo felt his own heart fading along with it.

Outside his tent, Dwalin had returned from the field carrying more wounded.  He’d found Bofur and Bombur in his search through the carnage, and wounded though he was, Bofur was able to help the other bear his brother back to the wounded, where Oin set to treating him.  Bombur was alive, though his injuries were great and he would need attention.  His body was laid out near Ori, who had yet to regain consciousness since his fall.  Dori had been helping to tend to him, though had went back out into the battlefield to help search for survivors.

Bofur’s injuries were real but not as serious as the others, so he offered to help Dwalin in his search, but it was Balin who stopped him from going back.  They exchanged a look that filled the dwarf’s heart with nervous dread, but it was the sight behind him that finally turned his attention.

For behind Balin were the many bodies, each covered with a sheet.  He glanced over the many covered bodies.  Each form had been identified, though many others were still missing and were being sought in the aftermath.  But it was a pair of boots the protruded from one of the sheets that caught Bofur’s eyes and stopped his heart from beating. He knew them.  And, he ventured, Balin had stopped him for just such a reason.  Balin also knew them.

The pain did not outweigh his need as he pushed past the older dwarf to collapse on his knees beside the covered form and quickly pull away the covering.

But he hadn’t needed to see the face to know who lay beneath.

Kíli’s blood-stained face kick-started his heart again, and a great heaving gasp rocked through him.

In his life, Bofur had lost many who were dear to him.  His parents.  His cousin’s family.  Friends.  Some to orc raids.  Others to cave ins in the mines.  Some to war.  And one thing had always stuck out to him when he was met with the face of a dead loved one.

There was something hideously unnatural about death.  Oft he’d heard the dead described as ‘only sleeping,’ but there was nothing sleepful about a dead body.  There was no way he ever felt he might confuse a fallen loved one for someone simply sleeping.  There was always that strange, unnatural waxy lustre to the skin, the sallow fallen nature of the eyes, the way that spark – that breath of life – which normally illumined a living form was now lost and shaded, as if it had never been there to begin with.

The face was Kíli’s and yet it was not, for death does not look like life.  That spark, that bit of Kíli that made him _Kíli_ , was gone.  Kíli was gone.  His Kíli was dead.

Yet despite the fact that this empty, cold, waxy thing was not his love, he could not help himself as he pulled the youth’s body gently into his lap and pressed him to his chest.  Tears slipped from his eyes onto the face that was and wasn’t Kíli’s, and he fought back the urge to sob openly as he did so.  Never had he expected to be the one to live.  If anyone had a right to live, it was the young one.  His Kíli.  His laddie-love.

He held him for a long time.  Could have held him forever if the others had let him.  But eventually Balin placed a coaxing hand on the miner’s shoulder, and he knew he had to let go of the body that wasn’t really Kíli anymore.  Gently laying him back on the ground, he replaced the covering on his body, though not before he took a moment to press a gentle kiss into the forehead that was not Kíli’s anymore.

Finally forcing himself to his feet, he heard another choking back sobs.  Turning tear-streaked eyes in the direction of the sound, he saw Bilbo, the hobbit, the burglar, the unsung, wiping his eyes desperately as sobs rocked through his small body.

Their pain was mutual, and before Bilbo was even aware of the other’s presence, he was enwrapped in a strong embrace as Bofur held him, the pair of them drawing comfort from their shared grief.  Neither felt the need to be strong for the other, but just suffering together in that moment was enough.


	23. Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bilbo says goodbye to his companions and returns to bag end in the shire.

The following days went by in a blur, for most everyone was operating as if in a haze.  The matter of the gold seemed to have fallen out of importance in the face of so much death and carnage.  And in times such as this one, such discussion would be indecent.  The company went into mourning, and the remaining forces from the Iron Hills joined them.  Of the original 13, only 10 had survived, and for some it was only just, pulled together with the work of Oin’s hands.

Thorin, Fíli and Kíli were laid to rest within the mountain halls, though Bilbo did not watch them be laid to rest.  Truth be told, he wouldn’t see Thorin after the king died before him, and he couldn’t bring himself to look at the two young princes’ lifeless forms.  Just the knowledge that they had fallen and breathed no more was painful enough for him.

Apart from the moment spent consoling each other, Bofur and Bilbo saw very little of each other in those passing days.  Bilbo kept to himself mostly, occasionally being sought by Balin from time to time as the dwarf found it necessary to check in on him to see that he was alright, and Gandalf, who though understanding the depth of suffering had a practical nature that made him seem at times unnecessarily callous.  Bilbo didn’t get comfort from either of them.  There were times when he wondered if perhaps he might have gained comfort from Bofur as he had the day he lost Thorin, but he recognized that the other was dealing with his own grief in his own way.  He did not seek him out, though there were several times he wanted to.

They met a few times in passing, and each time Bofur always gave him a smile that Bilbo remembered echoes of on their journey, though at the time he had not understood its import.  In his memory he always saw the dwarf as smiling, but now he realised just how deceptive something as simple as a smile could be, for though the dwarf was always smiling, it was clear that he was anything but happy.  A mask to hide the pain.

Bilbo wore his own mask.  He covered himself with closed doors and refused company when he could, and he wept quietly to himself often.  Upon arriving in Erebor, while Thorin still drew breath, Bilbo had been making up his mind to stay with the dwarves.  Now he wanted nothing more than return to his little hole in the ground in the Shire.  Perhaps subconsciously he thought “out of sight, out of mind” might work its magic on his aching heart, though an equally strong part of him knew such pains would never entirely be out of mind.

The hardest part, perhaps, was the realities of the might have beens.  There was no denying that he had loved the dwarf lord, and Thorin had loved him.  Things could have been so different.  Each day Bilbo’s mind invented a different scenario – in which he wasn’t knocked unconscious, in which he had been able to help his friends, in which none of his friends had died, and Thorin had taken up his role as king under the mountain.  He imagined their life together and the beauty of Erebor restored under Thorin’s rule.  He saw himself, a simple, silly hobbit as the king’s companion and consort, and after all, why not?

Because Thorin was dead, and the dead have no need of companionship.

How Bofur faired he wouldn’t know, and he daren’t ask.  Indeed, from Bofur’s own lips Bilbo would never hear tell of it.  The dwarf’s silence was a sign of his own grief, and Bilbo allowed him that.  But he wanted to leave, and after the pain became too much to bare, Bilbo made arrangements with Gandalf to return to the Shire.

His parting was one without much pomp, though he did not leave unburdered of treasure; as a result of his act of treachery, the Arkenstone was exchanged for a fourteenth of the share of the treasure – the Arkenstone itself was laid to rest with Thorin – and Bilbo himself received two small chests.  It seems unnecessary, and he would have refused had he the strength to put up much of a fight.  But the hobbit had grown tired of fighting.  It was not the time for fighting.  It was the time to acknowledge that which had not been lost.  Those who still lived.

The dwarves of the company who were able gave Bilbo a small send-off, though it was difficult for them to speak to him.  All knew of his affections for Thorin, and all recognized the depth of his suffering.  It was Balin who finally gathered enough courage to speak to the hobbit, but what he could offer was a feeble, “Goodbye, and good luck, laddie.  If ever y’ come back our way, when these halls have been restored, the feast will be grand indeed.”

All of course knew that Bilbo wouldn’t likely come back.

Bilbo’s response was equally ceremonial, though he meant it.  “And if you should pass my way, don’t wait to knock.  Any of you are welcome…at any time.”

Then Bilbo went to bid farewell to his companions who still suffered from their injuries.  Bombur and Ori hadn’t been able to leave the care of Oin and several others trained in the healing arts, though they fared much better than Bilbo might have originally thought.  Bombur’s appetite had improved tremendously, a sign that his healing was imminent, and Ori spent much of the spell of being bedridden writing or drawing.  Bilbo sat with Bombur first, and the dwarf expressed his sadness at the parting in as many words as the others, though the hobbit could tell it pained him as much as the rest.  Then Ori, who was able to form words much better, perhaps given the limited contact he’d had from others outside his own family while on the mend.  He was the only to enquire about Bilbo’s state upon Thorin’s passing, to which the hobbit could not respond for fear of releasing a torrent of emotion.

Standing up to leave, he was called back by the young scribe once more.  “Excuse me, before you leave,” the young dwarf spoke in his ever polite and gentle voice.  The hobbit hesitated and watched as Ori pulled out a large leatherbound book and flipped through the pages before he found a loose piece of parchment between two of the pages.  Removing it, he held it out to Bilbo.

It was a portrait.

For a moment the hobbit didn’t have words to respond.  The linework was exquisite; the mark of an unshaking hand and quill.  When he was finally able to speak, what he said was, “It’s…it’s lovely Ori, thank you.”

“It isn’t only mine; the ink work is my own,” Ori explained, a half-smile that betrayed both joy and sadness at the hobbit’s response and his swift parting.

“Who did the rest?” Bilbo inquired.

“Bofur,” the other answered simply, and he gestured to point out the thin pencil marks that were hiding under the layer of ink.  Then, settling himself back in his bed, he fought back the obvious discontent with the hobbit’s parting.  “Do come see us again.”

Bilbo agreed that he would.  Unfortunately, this day was the last time he would see many of his old companions alive.  He then attempted to dry his eyes that were threatening to leak again before he made his way to join Gandalf and Beorn, who had offered to see the hobbit safely home.  It was as he was leaving the makeshift infirmary that Bilbo ran into Bofur, who likely was coming to see to his brother.  They hesitated as they passed each other, and Bilbo saw that same sad smile on the other’s face.  Then Bofur went to pass Bilbo, though the hobbit gestured for him to speak with him, and when Bofur seemed uncertain, Bilbo finally forced his voice to speak for him.  “Can…can I talk to you?  Just for a moment.”

It was a simple request and Bofur didn’t refuse, allowing Bilbo to lead him to a small alcove; a recess in the stone wall of the great dwarf city.  A brief glance around to ensure privacy, he didn’t speak until he was satisfied they could not be overheard.  He did not want to pry, and certainly not within earshot of hungry ears.  “How are you?” he finally asked in a low voice.

He was surprised to find Bofur’s sad smile never faded, though his eyes flicked down to the ground, as if looking at Bilbo was too painful, and just seeing his eyes might betray him.  He didn’t answer the question, but instead changed direction entirely.  “Y’ sure y’ don’ want t’ stay here, with us?”

“I can’t,” Bilbo answered honestly, and there was that pang in his voice.  “I’m sorry.  I thought maybe…I thought if…if Thorin were here, I might stay to be with him.  But now…”  He stopped.  He wasn’t one of the types that would be found in a cemetery, paying respect to the dead.  In some ways Bilbo was still in denial in that respect.  He would not visit his fallen love, nor did he ever anticipate wanting to.  “I need to go home.”

Bofur nodded and gave Bilbo a gentle clap on the shoulder.  “I understan’.”

Then a thought occurred to the hobbit and he let it fall out his mouth before he even thought about what he was saying.  “You could come with me…if you like.  To the shire.”  It shocked him even as he was saying it, though the idea was appealing and he wished it had occurred to him sooner.

He was not surprised, however, when Bofur refused.  “My family is here,” is what he said, but they both knew what he really meant.  Kíli was there.  He didn’t want to leave his lover, even if the young dwarf lay in a cold hard tomb of stone.

So much had happened in such a short period of time, though it didn’t seem so short.  To Bilbo, the events shared with this ragtag bunch overshadowed the quiet, calm life he’d led before he met them.  They were like family to him now, in this time, and though his parting was imminent and necessary, he would miss them, and the need to return to the simplicity of Shire life did not outweigh his deep love for all of them.  If things had gone differently…and that was something else that Bilbo would wonder at.  Bofur had, after all, at one point expressed to others having feelings for Bilbo.  And there was a time, when Thorin’s wrath had been most vicious, that Bilbo had wondered just whether he might be able to share feelings for the other dwarf as well.  But now, thinking on it, he felt foolish.  Events had played out as they had, and pain or no pain, Bilbo would not have it any other way, despite the fact that the pair of them would bare the weight of loss of the rest of their lives.

Was it worth the pain?  There was no telling, but it was what it was, and life was to be lived, not to be spent counting up could have beens, even though they were hanging on the air between them.  Bilbo couldn’t know for sure, but he wondered if Bofur might have been thinking the same thing.  And something told him the dwarf wouldn’t have changed it either.  He’d only loved Kíli briefly, but he’d love him fiercely and it was more than enough.

As he had before, the dwarf surprised Bilbo once again with a sudden embrace, one in which it was as much for the hobbit’s comfort as for his own, and Bilbo received it willingly.  It was as if each was saying “I have seen your pain because I feel it.”  And though one can never know how another feels, both ventured they could sympathize.  “Y’ take care of y’rself now,” Bofur spoke when they finally drew back.

“And you.  And…look after the rest for me,” he added after a moment, and it was on these words that the pair parted.  It would not be the last they’d see each other, though it was the last time for many years.

Gandalf and Beorn escorted the hobbit as far as Rivendell, and it was the wizard who brought the hobbit the rest of the way to his old home.  It was strange for Bilbo to arrive in Bag End after having been gone for what felt like centuries, though was in point of fact only close to a year.  Yet the quietude was strangely unfamiliar to the hobbit.  It was as if the whole of the Shire had changed in his absence.

What Bilbo knew in the back of his mind but did not acknowledge, was that he was the one who had changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story is wrapping up. only a couple more chapters, if memory serves me. 1 chapter of real chapterness, and an epilogue.
> 
> thank you all for sticking with me through this journey. it has been wonderful. stick with it for the last few. i promise the epilogue will help ease the pain a little bit.
> 
> that conversation with bofur is one of the few things i've had planned for a long time. it was great to finally be able to write it, though as always now that it's written i can't look forward to it anymore. now its the epilogue that will keep me going.
> 
> <3


	24. Cold Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> several years have passed, and bilbo sees an old friend

“Frodo, the door!”

The young hobbit toddled from the dining room through his uncle’s house, following the sound of a firm rapping on the front door.  Tentative and shy about his new home with his uncle, the young one peeked through the window first, but unable to make out much more than a stout form on the other side, he pulled the door open gently so just his little face was peering through the hole.  “Hello?” he asked in a quiet voice.

On the other side of the door stood someone the young hobbit had never seen before, though he ventured he might have a guess.  He looked like a dwarf, and he’d heard stories of his uncle’s adventures as bedtime stories since coming to live with him.  Based on the snowy white beard that was cleft at the bottom, Frodo guessed it was Balin, son of Fundin.

“Hello there lad.”  His voice sounded surprised, but he had a kindly smile as he glanced down at the young one.

“You’re here for uncle Bilbo,” Frodo continued quietly, and he pushed the door open all the way so that the dwarf could follow him into the house.  “Are you Balin?”

“Tha’ I am, laddie.  Tha’ I am.”  He followed Frodo into the house and removed his cloak, hanging it on the coatrack near the door.  It still looked the same as it had before.  Just as he remembered it.  Though of course Frodo could know none of that.

“Uncle Bilbo has told me about you and your adventures.  When I can’t sleep he tells me stories.  About the trolls, and the elves, and the Lonely Mountain…”

“Frodo, who is it?” came Bilbo’s voice from around the corner, and the young hobbit smiled.  He had a bright face, and his clear blue eyes had a youthful sparkle about them that put the old dwarf’s heart at ease.

“It’s your friend, Balin,” the youth called back, before bouncing around and out of sight to retrieve his uncle.

Hardly a moment passed before Bilbo came into view, a bright and pleasant smile crossing his face.  He had hardly aged since Balin last saw him, though his clothes looked a bit finer than he remembered.  The gold had gone to some use.  And, as the dwarf sent one more kindly glance at the young hobbit who now stood behind Bilbo in a mixture of amusement and youthful reverence, Balin knew this young one must have profited from his uncle’s good fortune.  They embraced each other, and it was a firm and joyful embrace, lasting longer than either anticipated, but not longer than either felt comfortable with.  When Bilbo finally pulled back, he kept his hands on Balin’s shoulders as he looked into the dwarf’s eyes.  It had been quite some time since he’d last seen his friends, and often he had wanted to, but his new responsibilities made it quite impossible.  The wild was no place for his young nephew.

“It’s…it’s so wonderful to see you!” Bilbo spoke honestly and with brightness.  He finally dropped his arms and scuttled down the hall towards his kitchen, putting the kettle on and rifling through several small containers of loseleaf tea until he found one that he imagined his companion would like.  He was just turning around when he saw that Balin had followed him into the kitchen, being lead along by Frodo, the young hobbit having taken him by the hand.  “Thank you, Frodo my boy.”

Frodo didn’t say anything but smiled, and he dropped the dwarf’s hand before pulling out a chair for him.  Balin couldn’t help but chuckle at the young one, and he tousled the young head of dark hair in spite of himself.  Having young ones around always made the darkness of the world seem less dark, and it was clear Bilbo had a tiny ray of sunshine to ease his own wearied heart.

For a moment, it occurred to Balin just how ironic it was to see Bilbo in the role of a father with this one, a child, who called the elder uncle.  Just in the same way Thorin had acted in that very role for his young nephews, all of whom were lost now.  The role suited Bilbo.  Balin watched the hobbit fiddling with his kettle, only to stop and glance at his nephew with a sense of pride at his behaviour and demeanour.  The youth, after pulling out the chair, then walked over to his uncle and hugged him about the waist before skipping back off to the pantry in search of some food.  “What shall I bring, uncle?”

“What would you like?” Bilbo asked Balin quickly, turning his attention away from the kettle and to his companion.  “We’ve got some fresh bread, and I just bought sausages this morning.  Cheese and jam if you like, and some wine, though it is midday.  Is anyone else coming?  How much should I prepare?”

“It’s just me, laddie,” Balin responded with another light chuckle, sitting back in the chair easily and resting his hands on his stomach.  The last time he’d sat in this place had been the night before their journey, when they first met the hobbit – their master burglar.  Such a very long time indeed.

Bilbo hadn’t had time to tell the youth what to bring, nor indeed had Balin answered, before the young hobbit returned with his arms laden with food – a firm loaf of bread, a few blocks of cheese, and a cheese knife.  He placed them on the table and then disappeared again.

It went on like this for a few minutes more, the two hobbits scuttling around and gathering together bits of this and that until a relative feast was spread before them, and only then did Bilbo finally take a seat with his friend, the young hobbit sitting instead on the ground by the fireplace, occupying himself with a few toys.  Balin patiently waited for the hobbit to settle himself, but now they were pleasantly enjoying tea together, and the dwarf felt like hardly any time had passed, though they both felt older.  Indeed, worlds older than either had felt the last time they both sat in this room together.

“So how are you?  How are the others?” Bilbo asked once the mood had settled, curious for how his old friends were doing.  It did his heart good to have Balin here.  Seeing him reminded the hobbit just how much he missed adventure, and missed the dwarves.

And Thorin.  It reminded him just how much he truly missed Thorin.

“Much has changed since we last saw each other,” Balin replied simply, sipping his tea before continuing.  “Erebor has been restored t’ much of its former strength.  As beautiful as I remember it.”  He smiled wistfully, though it was bittersweet.  “Dain has made a strong ruler for his people.”

Bilbo nodded some layer of understanding, and though it was clear his heart tinged a bit knowing there was another on the throne, he remained strong and calm.  “And what of…what of our companions?  Your brother, Dwalin?  Ori, Dori, Nori, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur…Oin, Gloin – ”

“All well, I can assure y’,” Balin responded with another low laugh, and he launched into what he knew of everyone’s whereabouts since he left.  Dwalin was a close companion of Dain, his sharp and shrew military mind a helpful addition to his rule.  Also, much to Balin’s personal disappointment, Dwalin had taken on the position of acting as companion and confidant to Thorin’s sister, Dís, upon her arrival in Erebor.  Bilbo could not know the dwarf’s own attachment to Dís, though he could tell just in the way Balin related the story that his own emotions were compromised.  So he had made other decisions and, as he told it, made his way here to visit with his old friend, as he considered returning to the great dwarf city of Moria as lord there.  Dwalin had wanted Balin to remain with him, but they had parted on friendly terms.

Of Ori, Dori and Nori Balin had considerably less to say.  The elder two had remained in Erebor, though he did not see them as often as he would have liked, and now given his departure he felt it would be some time before he saw either of them again.  Ori on the other hand had made a bit of a name for himself in recent years.  He had compiled a written history of their adventures to retake the mountain (Balin amusingly expressed to Bilbo the hobbit’s own growing fame among the dwarves of Erebor, many of whom had never seen or met a Halfling) which was told and retold again and again throughout the many halls of the great dwarf city.  When Balin had made the decision to return to Moria, Ori asked to come with him, and he had left ahead of Balin to gather together a company of dwarves from among their kin.  A small band had left Erebor with him in the direction of the Blue Mountains, and it was the last time Balin had seen the younger dwarf, though he looked forward to meeting with him soon.

Oin and Gloin were both in and out a lot.  Gloin’s family had re-joined him with the sudden influx of dwarves several months after the lonely mountain had been retaken, and Oin spent much of his time in conversation with the humans of Lake Town.  His skill at healing herbs made him very useful to those wounded after the Battle of the Five Armies, and the ties made had never been broken.

It was here that they stopped, for Frodo was quickly growing bored with the conversation, so Bilbo talked to his nephew briefly, got him some parchment and quills to draw with, and set him up in his study so that the youth might occupy himself.  When Bilbo returned, Balin had a knowing smile on his face that made the hobbit fumble a bit as he took his seat once more.

“What?”

“Was surprised t’ find y’ here with a wee lad,” Balin said as he gestured in the direction Bilbo had only just returned from after settling his nephew.  “But it seems to suit you.”

“Does it?” Bilbo asked quietly, with just a sliver of doubt in his voice.  He turned to reach for the kettle, which had grown cold during their conversation, and put it back on.  “I worry about him.  Constantly.”

“That won’t change,” Balin responded quietly, thinking of how he had once watched the young heirs of Durin grow, aiding Thorin as he too struggled with feelings of insufficiency in the role of father to the youths.  And how that same worry and tenacity followed them to their ends.

“I’ve often thought of coming to see you,” Bilbo admitted quietly, as if there was just a bit of embarrassment at having never ventured east to see his friends.  “But the boy…I can’t let anything happen to him.”

Balin had thought perhaps there were other reasons, but he did not voice this.

“What of the others?  You never said about Bifur, or Bofur and Bombur,” Bilbo pressed again, turning conversation away from himself, whether out of embarrassment or genuine curiosity of the others, but it had the intended effect because Balin sat back thoughtfully.

“Bombur has grown wider since you last saw him,” Balin said with a laugh.  “But he’s well.  He an’ his family.  Bifur too.  He spends a lot of time out of the city, working trade and that sort of thing.”

“And Bofur?” Bilbo pressed, and the longer he had to wait to hear of the other dwarf, the more he wanted to know just how he faired and what he was doing.  He often thought of Bofur, almost as much as he thought about Thorin.  Mostly because he saw the pair of them as the same.  They both had loved and lost and were trying to live their lives with the bitter absence.

“He fairs well,” Balin said honestly.  “It would not surprise you to learn he spends his time making toys.”

The thought brought Bilbo a smile and he shook his head.  It seemed perfect.

“If I’d known y’ had a lad, I’d have brought something for him,” Balin added with a smile, before he went back to the topic at hand.  “Bofur would have liked tha’.”

“But he’s well?” Bilbo asked yet again, and Balin knew just as well what Bilbo was really asking, in spite of the fact that he wouldn’t ask it directly.  However Balin couldn’t be the one to tell the halfling, as even he did not know.  Like the rest of them, Bofur had adapted to his new life in Erebor.  He’d claimed his share of the fortune, though what he did with it the other dwarf didn’t know, for he’d hardly altered his lifestyle from what he’d done in the Blue Mountains.  He worked hard, smiled often, and spent most of his time with his brother’s family.  One thing that Balin did know was that he’d made a habit of visiting Kíli’s grave in the evenings.  What he did while he was there Balin couldn’t know, and knew better than to ask.  Such things were none of his business.  But on occasion when Balin visited the three fallen heirs of Durin, he was always surprised to see small tokens left at Kíli’s graveside.  He assumed they were Bofur’s.

In truth, in that very moment as the hobbit entertained his old friend in his dining room and afternoon slipped into the growing darkness of evening, Bofur was making his evening visit to Kíli’s graveside.  He sat down on the large casket hewn from rock as he always did, greeted his fallen laddie-love in the same bright though bittersweet tone, and told the unreplying silence of his work that day, how many beautiful treasures he had created, how many smiles he’d brought to the dwarf children who enjoyed his work.  He showed the darkness his craft, explaining how he had improved upon works that had once made the child Kíli happy, and how much others were enlivened by them.  He casually filled the silence with stories of his brother and his nieces and nephews, all naughty little imps very much like Kíli and his brother had been in all the time he knew them, and when he couldn’t bring himself to words any longer, he pulled out his flute and played.  Sometimes it would be a familiar tune, and other times he would improvise as the mood struck him.  And as night approached, he finally stood, placed one hand upon the stone, and wished his laddie-love a goodnight with a promise to see him again tomorrow.

But it was something that Bilbo would never know.  And, for the time being, he was content not to know.

“He is well,” Balin confirmed after the question had been given time to settle, and his smile had softened.  “As well as you are, laddie.”

The friends talked well into the late afternoon and evening, and were joined by the youth Frodo for supper, who then promptly crawled into his uncle’s lap and drifted into a comfortable sleep.  Night turned into morning and another day touched the surface of the earth but it didn’t seem to touch them.  They were far too happy enjoying each other’s company, sharing stories and reminiscing about their past lives together.

It was with sadness and a heavy heart that Bilbo finally allowed his old friend to take his leave.  But Balin needed to meet Ori and discuss their approach to returning to Moria, and Bilbo knew that he could not keep his friend hostage forever.  Still, with a friendly embrace and a wish for health and well-being to each other, they parted on his doorstep, and the hobbit watched the dwarf’s retreating form until he could no longer see him in the distance.  Then he closed the door, and behind him another chapter of his old life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, we're nearly there. i'm working on the epilogue now. <3
> 
> as always, thank you for reading. i love you.
> 
> edit may 19, 2013: this lovely work by sierrapapaquebecromeo http://hydeisawake.tumblr.com/post/50840417948/this-is-because-of-you-you-talented-asshole-i


	25. Epilogue - I Will Follow You Into the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> all things must come to an end, and this is the end.

Epilogue

Very little in Bilbo’s aging life was unexpected, though he never let a moment go by where he might behave in a manner that was expected of him by other hobbits.  Such was the case on his 111th birthday, where the largest party that had ever been seen ended with one of the strangest farewells that would ever be had.  Bilbo was quite pleased with himself, in fact, in his ability to use the ring he’d found to play one last little trick on the hobbits of the shire.  He was quite ready for another adventure, and leaving everything he had to his nephew Frodo, he set off for Rivendell to see the elves again, and to finish his memoirs.  It was not something that he might have done before the company of dwarves stumbled through his front door all those years ago, but it was long overdue, and leaving his nephew safely in Gandalf’s care, the hobbit was content to see the world again and expect the unexpected.

And the unexpected found him.

Whether Gandalf had sent a message or word had reached further than Bilbo anticipated, it was when he stopped for the night between Bywater and Bree in a tavern along the road that adventure was rekindled within him.

Upon entering the tavern, the inn-keeper pulled him aside and asked if he was the hobbit Bilbo Baggins.  Answering agreeably though with some confusion, he was then taken with the few belongings he carried through the inn to a smaller room in the back, reserved for private parties and the like.

Inside were two figures that it took the hobbit a moment to recognize, for they, like himself, had been changed by the passing years.  It was only when the one closest to him rose to his feet and he was able to make out the details of his form that it finally clicked in Bilbo’s head just who was waiting for him.

His brain was only just processing that it was Bofur and Bifur when the former pulled him into an embrace.  “Happy Birthday, Bilbo.”

The hobbit happily embraced his friend, being held in much the same way he had when they had last parted those years ago after his great adventure, and he laughed lightly in his chest.  “What are you two doing here?”  They pulled back and Bilbo hardly had time to prepare before Bifur too had pulled him into a firm, forceful embrace complete with a brisk clap on the back.

“Vemu ai-menu,” the elder spoke in his gruff voice, though to Bilbo it sounded more like inane garble than distinct words.  Bilbo smiled, assuming it was some dwarvish greeting, and gave him a tentative clap on the shoulder.

Both of them looked older than when he last saw them.  Bifur, whose beard and hair had been a mixture of salt-and-pepper was now fully white with a few stray strands of black mixed within, and Bofur’s braids, which were much longer than Bilbo remembered them being when they last met, too were coloured with grey.

“We got word from Gandalf that y’ migh’ be here,” Bofur explained when Bilbo finally recovered from the shock of seeing the pair of them there.

“But…what brought you this far west?”

Bofur’s smile and the mischievous twinkle in his eyes told Bilbo that there was really only one thing that brought them west – the desire to meet with him and see him again.  The hobbit couldn’t contain himself and his smile spread from ear to ear.  “I can’t even begin to tell you how pleased I am to see you!”

“C’mon, sit down,” Bofur instructed, and he directed Bilbo to a chair at the table, next to where he himself had only moments before been sitting.  Bifur disappeared into the tavern and returned a few moments later with a flagon of ale for the hobbit and set it before him before taking a seat on the opposite side of the table.  There were still plates of food in the middle of the table, and Bofur pushed them towards the hobbit.  Bilbo, indeed, as to be expected of a hobbit, was more than happy to have more to eat, even after the lavish birthday party, and the dwarves joined him.  It was a meagre feast by comparison, but it was the company that mattered most, and it didn’t take the old friends very long to grow comfortable with each other and talk as if very little time had passed.  Bofur translated for Bifur when necessary, and the pair of them filled Bilbo in on what had been happening in Erebor.  They apologized for Bombur’s absence, as the dwarf had wanted very much to join them, but in his brother’s words, “He needs 3 dwarves just t’ help ‘im t’ th’ table.”  The thought made Bilbo laugh, and he spoke of his meeting with Balin years back.  The mention of Balin’s name brought an odd hush over the pair, and Bilbo felt his heart sink instinctively.

“Is something wrong?” Bilbo asked, though he didn’t need to ask to know the answer.

Bifur spoke first, but of course Bilbo couldn’t understand him, so he turned his gaze to Bofur for some explanation.  What he said was, “No one has heard from him…or Ori.”  There was a moment’s silence where the only sound was the crackling of the fire and their own soft breathing.  Then, Bofur added, “There’s been rumours tha’ Moria was retaken.”

The hobbit understood; the pair was likely dead, if the orcish hoard had indeed retaken the dwarf kingdom.  Instantly Bilbo felt a twinge of regret at having not appreciated his time with Balin when he last saw the other.  And Ori…he’d last seen him nigh 60 years prior when he left Erebor.  It made his heart heavy.  Knowing that the years had gotten beyond them, he anticipated a counting up of losses.  He didn’t want to spend this time with his old friends counting up the dead.  He wanted to enjoy the presence of those whom he deeply loved, and had missed.  He wanted to make this time together count.

So to redirect the conversation, Bilbo regaled them with a retelling of his party and the brilliant trick he’d played on his fellow hobbits, which seemed to brighten the darkness that had previously been cast over the room, and was pleased to see both of his companions smiling again.  He was especially moved by Bofur’s smile, for it had been so long since he’d seen the other, and any real smile was welcome on his face.  The hobbit was surprised, but pleasantly, that he could still distinguish between the other’s forced smile and true happiness.  Bofur looked happy.  Happier than he remembered the other being when he left.

Perhaps time had healed some of the wounds.  Bilbo knew his own wounds still pained him, but he’d grown strong.  And there were little things in his life that brought him happiness and joy.  Frodo was the main reason for that.  The opportunity to return to Rivendell and spend time with the elves also made his heart lighter.  And now, being here with his old friends lightened his heart.

Bifur turned in before the other two; the years had taken their toll on him and he was already falling asleep in his chair before his cousin nudged him and suggest he go to sleep.  It was after he left that the conversation slipped into a level of comfort that Bilbo remembered from their time together in the past.  Bofur had always been a good friend to him during their journey, and despite the many years separating the last time they had truly talked, it seemed as if no time at all had passed.  Even the changed in them physically seemed to make no difference to them.  And it wasn’t going to end.

“So…what exactly was it that Gandalf told you?  That brought you here, I mean,” Bilbo pressed when their moods had settled.

It took Bofur a moment to respond as he took the moment to dig out his pipe.  Just watching him do so made the hobbit smile, and in turn Bilbo’s smile seemed to pull a brighter one out of the dwarf.  He leaned forward to offer Bilbo some of his pipe tobacco, which the hobbit took happily to join him in a smoke.  Then, sitting back, the pair of them grew more serious again.

“I’s no’ so much wha’ he said,” Bofur explained quietly and he let out a lungful of smoke.  He thought for a moment, and Bilbo game him the space to think, letting a few smoke rings escape his own lips.  “Jus’ didn’t think I’d have another chance.”

Bilbo didn’t need him to explain further to know what he meant.  There wasn’t much time left, for either of them.  It was best to take advantage of what time they had left.  For a moment, Bilbo felt the shame of not having gone to see the dwarves in his life.  But it was what it was, and at least for now he had this time to share with two of them.

“Can I ask you something?” Bilbo pressed, and Bofur met his gaze, nodding but saying nothing.  “And…if you…if you don’t want…”

“Wha’ is it, Bilbo?” Bofur replied softly, a gentle smile crossing his face in encouragement.

The hobbit had to get control of himself before he forced out “Come with me?”

“With you?”

“To Rivendell,” Bilbo explained, and then he added with hardly any pause, “And…I know you probably need to get back…to your family…and…that you’ll want…to be able to see…”  His voice trailed off and he glanced up at his friend’s aging, shaded eyes.  The way he pulled at words made the dwarf smile in bemusement, and Bofur reached over to clap the hobbit on the shoulder in encouragement.

“Y’ sure you’d want us?”

“Of course!” Bilbo replied with a youthful exuberance that was hidden in the form that was now aged and grey.  The body may have grown old, but his spirit of adventure was as daring as it ever was.  “We can go on another adventure together.”  Then his face softened as he spoke, “it might be the last time we see each other.”

“In this world, perhaps,” was Bofur’s ever comfortable response.  The fear of death did not seem to be within him.  In fact, there was something about the way he said those words that told Bilbo his friend already welcomed the death that was waiting for him on the horizon.  He was younger than Bifur, but he seemed wearied.  Bilbo couldn’t know, and as always would not ask, but something told him that Bofur was ready.  And after all, why not?

“That’s an adventure I’m not quite ready for,” Bilbo admitted with some degree of embarrassment.  He knew that age would take him eventually, but there were still so many things he wanted to do, wanted to see, wanted to try.  He still wanted to finish his memoires.  He wanted to do all the things his own fear had kept him from doing.

His statement, however, simply brought a smile to the other’s face, and he offered, “It’ll come.”

After much conversation and ale, the two friends agreed to turn in for the evening and, not surprisingly, the dwarves had already made accommodation for Bilbo to share their room with them.  The bed was quite large enough for two dwarves and a hobbit, as it easily could have fit 2 humans, though it took some manoeuvring as Bifur had taken his portion out of the middle when he went to sleep before them.  Still, they rested together peacefully, and set off for Rivendell the next day as a group.

The road was cheerful thus assembled, and it seemed to go much quicker for them together.  It was fortunate indeed that Bilbo was accompanied by his two friends, as twice they were ambushed along the road and the safety to be found in their numbers gave them advantage.  They were not the fighters they had once been, but even age could not kill the fire in their weary bones.

Even the time in Rivendell felt natural and dreamlike.  Bilbo convinced the two dwarves to remain with him for as long as he felt he could muster, but after a few days Bofur admitted that he needed to return to Erebor.  When Bilbo pressed him on it, his explanation was one that the hobbit could not share, though he did his best to understand.

Bofur wanted to end his days in Erebor.  He wanted his body to be laid to rest near his laddie-love.  He wanted to know that, if nothing else, what remained of the both of them could turn to dust together.  And whether or not his health appeared to be frail, he did not want to risk it.  It saddened Bilbo to part from his friend, but he could not begrudge him his wish.  It was something he would never fully comprehend – how Bofur felt the need to be so close to his fallen beloved’s dead corpse, while Bilbo could hardly be in the same country as his – but their final embrace was one of true friendship.

It was only a month after the toymaker returned to his home that his health began to decline rapidly, and it was night that finally took him.  But he welcomed the darkness with willingness and joy.  He knew that his lover would be waiting for him on the other side.

\-----------

The sound of seagulls, the fresh sea breeze, the salty mist that hung on the air and filled eager lungs seemed to have a feel of home about it, and it was at the waterside that Bilbo prepared for the last great adventure of his life.  The honour of being able to take one of the last elven ships to the undying lands had been bestowed upon him and his nephew, as bearers of the ring of power.  Bilbo himself knew very little about the true nature of the ring, though its effects were not entirely lost on him, nor on his nephew.  He felt renewed.  Refreshed.  Like he had been given a new life to live and that he was stepping out of the life and world that he knew into a reality that none of his kin had ever experienced.  This rare gift was something none but the elves were able to experience before now, and the reality of this generous offer was not lost on the hobbit, who was thankful for every little breath, the tang of the salt water and the chill making him feel truly alive.

He did not and could not know what to expect, as the boat rode on gentle waves.  It was like riding a melody through an ocean of song, so smooth was the vessel’s voyage.  A few times, voices called to Bilbo, but he did not hear them.  He was hardly listening.  His eyes were fixed on the hazy horizon before them, and the destination on the other end.  The undying lands.  An ever-green land where beauty abounded.

In the distance, shapes began to take form from the mist.  Shadows.  Uncertain and unclear, but gaining their solidity.

The song did not end when the boat stopped its forward motion, and one by one its occupants made their way to the shore.  The sand under the hobbit’s feet did not feel like sand but mysterious.  Like walking on thread.  Not thick, spidery thread, but soft, thin thread, so thin that it might be lost on the eye and yet could still be perceived with the other senses.  Once more voices spoke to him – the boats other occupants – but the old hobbit did not hear them.  Instead he followed his feet through the mist, stumbling without seeing but sensing his way along.  Something told him that he would follow his feet to exactly where he needed to go, and this was an adventure that had no need of maps, nor of tall, stately, ageless companions.

His feet lead him to a clearing in the fog, and it was there that he saw them.

In the front stood Thorin, young and strong, his face beautiful in the fog and unmarred by battle.  His long hair framed his stately features and the smile that crossed his face then brought a warmth to the hobbit’s chest that hadn’t been there in many a year.  The sound that left his lips was a mixture of a cry and a sigh, both in relief.  He did not think his old limbs could carry him fast enough, but Thorin approached him, and it wasn’t long before the hobbit was safely embraced in the thick, dense furs that had for a very brief period indeed felt like home to him.  He buried himself in that chest, losing his face in the warmth of the other body that couldn’t possibly have been real.

“You look the same!”

The deep baritone laugh shook in the chest he was clutching and he held to it tighter.  “Nor have you, my thief.”

“I am old, Thorin,” the hobbit replied as he finally allowed himself to release the dwarf, and as he pulled back he was able to make out other forms behind him.  Kíli and Bofur were close, and Fíli just beyond them.  Balin, Ori, and several others that Bilbo did not recognize also were there.  As he looked upon each face, he smiled at them brightly and the smiles were each fondly returned.

“You’re still the same as I remember you,” Thorin replied with honesty in his tone.  “Many years I have waited for you.  Though it does not seem quite so long.”

“Don’t flatter me,” Bilbo answered, though in that moment he glanced down at his hands and was surprised to see that the veins that had shown through due to his age, the heaviness of his skin, the wrinkles, the snowy pallor, all had vanished.  What met his gaze was lustrous flesh, young, healthy, unblemished.  Reaching up to touch his face, he felt his once-sagging cheeks now firm and soft, and the pain that filled his joints was simply a memory. Realization set in and he glanced into those piercing blue eyes.  “Have I died?”

Thorin did not answer him but smiled as he offered the hobbit his large hand.  “Come,” he simply said, and as the hobbit took it, he set foot into the greatest of adventures he would ever face.  Eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry for the time you all had to wait to get to the end of this. moving was a pain and i'm still not quite moved in yet. loads of my stuff are in boxes in the garage, as are my clothes. but writing is therapy, and with all the stress i've been going through lately, i really needed this.
> 
> i want to thank all the folks who've stuck with me since the beginning, encouraged me, and given me such wonderful comments and constructive criticism. this work is as much yours as it is mine and i hope you come back to read some of my future writings. <3
> 
> peace,  
> ~daire

**Author's Note:**

> i know this is really short but this is just the introduction. expect future chapters to be longer. r&r appreciated.


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